Not Far Enough
by Forensiphile
Summary: Some actions have bigger reactions than others. Completed.
1. Default Chapter

Title-- Not Far Enough 

Author-- Devanie Maxwell

Rating -- PG-13

Category-- SRA

Spoilers-- First season

Summary-- Some actions have bigger reactions than others. WIP.

A/N-- Thanks to M for all the encouragement and getting me through the longest block I've ever had. I'm not sure I would have ever written again without your prodding; it's so appreciated. You rock. Thanks to Andi for all the advice and and the title and the brain-storming endurance and just for being my very best friend. :) Oh, and thanks to Maple Street for being the most amazing group of people I've ever been a part of.

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"All I'm saying is, why run off before you're due to come into a large amount of money?"

Shrugging, Danny leaned back in his chair. "Maybe she had someone helping her."

Samantha sighed and looked at Jack, who offered no assistance. "You two should head up there. Check out her friends. Maybe one of them wanted a cut in exchange for getting her out of the country."

"What are you going to do?"

Jack motioned toward his office. "I'm going to make a few phone calls. See if we can't get this a little more media exposure."

She nodded and grabbed the files in front of her. "I'm always up for a wild goose chase. We'll keep you informed when we find nothing."

"Thank you." Jack turned his attention to Danny. "Watch your back."

Shaking her head, she tossed a tolerant smile to both men before leaving the table. Danny stood and started off in the direction she had just gone. "Let us know if Viv and Martin turn up anything."

Jack watched the two agents leave and walked toward his office, only to hear his name. Turning around, he was confronted with Van Doran and an agent whose badge identified him as being from Headquarters. "Agent Malone, this is Deputy Director Alan Cameron with the Office of Professional Responsibility."

He looked at Van Doran, but her expression was inscrutable. Sticking out a hand tentatively, he greeted the senior agent. "Deputy Director."

"Agent Malone. I've heard a lot about your work up here."

He could only imagine. "All good I hope."

Cameron's smile stayed fixed in the same position and Jack wondered if there was any good at all. "Should we go into my office?"

  


"We won't beat around the bush. We're all busy people and I know you have an unit to run. I've come with a transfer order for one of your agents."

Of all the scenarios Jack had run through his head as to why the OPR was there, losing a member of his team had never crossed his mind. "Excuse me?"

"Special Agent Samantha Spade. We feel her skills and experience with this unit over the last few years makes her a good prospect for a ASAC role in another office."

Jack felt the words like a punch. "Agent Spade is a valuable member of this team. With all due respect, we need her here." He looked at Van Doran. She didn't look back.

Cameron fixed him with a polite smile. "She is good. Which is why we think, given the caliber of talent on your unit alreadly, she'd be more useful to the Bureau in another capacity."

Trying to hide the hint of desperation in his voice now, he tried another angle. "Doesn't she get a say in this? You're completely uprooting her life." 

"We feel she fits a good profile for a transfer. Not married. No kids. Doesn't own a home." He paused. "It's not optional when our office gets involved, no."

This wasn't about her skills, or her experience. "You come into my office and tell me I'm about to lose one of my best agents. You can at least tell me the real reason why."

"I don't think it's in your best interest to try to call my bluff, Agent. You can only damage her career. And your own."

There it was. He wanted to vomit. "What does that mean?"

"I think you know." The older man stood and placed a form on his desk. "The transfer will be effective immediately, pending reassignment and relocation. Someone from HR will be in contact with her shortly. You're her immediate supervisor, so we felt you should be given a heads up."

Jack ignored the offered hand and watched as Cameron let himself out. Van Doran started, "Jack..."

"This is bullshit, Paula. They don't know anything and they're going to ship Samantha off to some satellite office because of a mistake I made."

"This isn't about your 'mistake'. "

"It was a threat!"

Van Doran looked at the door, then lowered her voice. "It was a gift. There's not a lot of doubt at the higher levels that Spade lied straight-faced to their investigator when he was here. They could look harder, but they've chosen not to. There were two choices: transfer her or make her a four-bagger."

Speaking carefully, Jack fought to keep control of his anger. "They can't fire her without proof."

She conceded. "No, they can't. But how would suspension and censure look on her record? She'd be forced to appeal. It would forever be a black mark on what could be a promising career."

"So why promote her? To get her away from me? The relationship is over, Paula. It's been over for awhile. It doesn't enter our jobs. I'm trying to work it out with my wife."

"Glad to hear it." She gestured at the paper in front of him. "My word of advice to you is to sign that order. Her career can only improve and it would make yours a lot less complicated."

"The correlation between my career and my relationship with Samantha doesn't exist. It never has."

Van Doran shook her head and stacked a pile of folders. "What about the Mashburn situation?"

"What about it?"

"You broke protocol several times to get Spade out that bookstore." It wasn't an accusation as much as a reminder.

"I also diffused the situation and got everyone released. We were able to recover Sydney Harrison alive. Took custody of Mashburn and saved a federal agent in the process. But yes, maybe protocol would have been more effective."

She sighed. "Lose the sarcasm, Jack. I'm just trying to protect the best interests of both of you."

Jack stood. "I appreciate that." Walking to the door, turned. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go replace one of our best agents for no discernable reason."

Watching him go, Van Doran could only hope the new one would be male.

  


The call came as she and Danny sat at a diner; she picked up the phone as she dodged a straw wrapper he had aimed in the general direction of her head. Not recognizing the number on the display, she answered. "Special Agent Spade."

Danny looked up; it wasn't part of the team. Watching her expression change from curiosity to confusion, he was doubly concerned when a stricken-looking Samantha grabbed a napkin and a pen. He listened to her repeat dates, times, names--it wasn't until she wrote down a flight number that he realized this wasn't a lead.

Her voice was thick, tense. "Who authorized this?

He couldn't hear the answer, but whatever it was made her close her eyes. "Can I appeal?" A pause. "I understand that, but I didn't seek this out."

Danny caught her attention. "OPR?" He mouthed, wondering what else would require an appeal. He sat back when she shook her head impatiently. After a series of short, one-word answers, she pressed the end button and sat in silence. She looked shell-shocked.

"What was that about?" He asked, treading carefully.

Staring at him, she looked as though she had been punched in the stomach. "That was HR. I've been reassigned to another unit in DC."

Stunned, his mind rushed to come up with a response. "Transferred? Why?"

"Apparently the Bureau feels that I would be of better use elsewhere. They're creating an unit there similar to ours and thought I might lead it."

"So it's a promotion?" This was too much to assimilate. "Do you have to accept it?"

"If I want to keep my job." She had never sounded this desolate.

He kept his eyes focused on her, even though she was looking everywhere but him. "Do you want to accept it?"

"No." There wasn't any hesitation at all.

Shaking his head, he tried to come up with options. "Have you talked to Jack? Maybe he could fight this. Pull a few strings. He knows people in DC..." He trailed off as he realized that their boss hadn't been in a position to gain leverage in quite some time.

"I can't talk to Jack about this." Her voice was much more firm than just a moment before.

"Why not?"

"He ordered the transfer."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A/N-- Immeasurable thanks to both M and B for all their help with this. Much love to Maple Street as always. Thanks to Andi for her encouragement.  
  
Continued from Chapter One   
  
Chapter Two:   
  
By the sixth box Samantha was tired. Moving was taxing enough when you wanted to leave. She didn't have any of the excitement that usually came with relocation; she didn't want a fresh start or a better job. She was being exiled by the same person who had brought her here.   
  
Jack.   
  
He had left five messages on her machine over five days, each one a little more resigned than the last. On the sixth day there hadn't been a call. She told herself that she felt relief, not disappointment. The anger was still there, but at a more manageable level. She hadn't returned to work; HR had suggested she take the week to get things squared away and she had taken it-- not because she needed the time, but the prospect of going to the office made her nauseous.   
  
Danny had called twice. She had laughed and made small talk before promising to call and write. Presenting the image of someone who was on her way up the ladder and thrilled for the opportunity instead of an agent who had been sentenced to another city for a crime she didn't commit. No one had leveled an accusation, but the OPR only transfers agents for two reasons. Punishment or promotion. She had been told it was the latter, but she knew that wasn't true.  
  
She was a thirty year-old agent with less than four years with the Bureau. Her solve rate was inapplicable, since she worked as part of a unit. Her yearly performance reviews were good, but nothing that would get pinned to the bulletin board. If anything Jack had been conservative with her reports. 'I just want to err on the side of caution' were actually his exact words. It wouldn't hurt her career, but it wouldn't raise any red flags when her service awards didn't match the long list of "outstandings" on paper. And to be honest, she wasn't outstanding. That label applied to someone like Vivian. Good, capable, efficient agents that never tested the system. Never got questioned by the Office of Professional Review for sleeping with their bosses. Certainly never got shot by their own weapon when they let it get into the hands of a vigilante hostage. If the Bureau wanted an agent worthy of promotion, she could think of at least seven on their floor with more seniority and less colorful histories.   
  
Martin had stopped by once. She had been cordial and offered him a drink before feigning exhaustion. She liked him-- a lot more than she had at the beginning--but was finding it easier as the hours went on to break all ties. As she watched him leave her conscience kicked in and she handed him her new number, not minding if he called her. Not caring if he didn't. The less reminders of this job-- this city-- the better.   
  
Keller didn't get a call. Neither did the few friends she had managed to make outside of work. She had lived in New York City for five years, one before she had joined the FBI and four in the Missing Persons Unit. She worked more than anyone else on the team, outside Jack. Perhaps because of Jack, but she convinced herself it was because of her strong work ethic. What little time she had off the job she used to socialize. Not having the opportunity to build relationships, she essentially had contacts. Most of the men didn't seem to mind, and if they did she moved on. Samantha hated herself for it, but she wasn't going to hurt someone or be hurt herself because her career wasn't conducive to a relationship.   
  
It wasn't until the summer of 2001 that the two intertwined.   
  
The first time that she and Jack crossed the line was a muggy July afternoon. A case had ended badly; the body of a teenage boy they had been tracking for almost a week was pulled out of the river. She had taken it hard, but Jack had taken it harder. Somehow a commiseratory hug had ended up with their clothes spread across the floor of an inexpensive motel room. Day had turned into night before he had left with an apology; Samantha simply took a shower and tried to convince herself that Jack didn't mean anything more to her than the flings to which she had become accustomed.   
  
Two weeks later he asked her on a date.   
  
It wasn't a real date; he had asked her to go to a local diner to discuss a case. The invitation was unusual, but she hadn't seen anything to indicate it was anything other than advertised-- especially since Danny invited himself to come along. At the restaurant Jack had slid into a booth as Danny took the seat across from him. She paused a moment before sitting down next to Jack, who laid the paperwork between them. Making notations with his right hand, she felt the fingers on his left rest lightly on her hip. Danny's view was obstructed by her right arm or she might have considered shifting away from his touch. She wasn't sure if it was an advance or an apology, but either way he shared her bed that night.   
  
That bed was now the resting place for a seventh box, filled mostly with small electronics and picture frames. The pictures were mainly of her family; she noted with some measure of amusement that a few of them still held the photos that came with the frames themselves. No pets, no boyfriends. She had one picture of Jack, but it was clipped out of the newspaper after they had done a press conference together. There wouldn't be any Christmas party photos of them; she was sure that honor belonged to Marie. It was funny, because for as tawdry as their relationship seemed when it began, it had ended up as being one of the most significant she had ever been involved in. The most significant, if you excluded her brief marriage and she did. Looking back she knew it wasn't love. She couldn't say the same for her relationship with Jack.   
  
In the beginning it was mostly about the sex. Whether it was a release from the job or from his marriage she wasn't sure, but she was there for him because she wanted to be. He'd show up at her apartment or in a hotel room and it would start at the door. As the days turned into weeks, the boundaries became less clear. Instead of falling into bed, he'd greet her with a light kiss before sitting on the couch. They began to talk more. Occasionally they would watch movies. There were a couple nights where sleeping together didn't involve sex at all. It was ironic that all of her most intimate moments with Jack came with their clothes on. Also ironic that that same intimacy was what would eventually drive him away.   
  
Most relationships end because of a lack of feeling. Her relationship with Jack ended because there was too much. He wasn't juggling two lives, but three. His family, his career, and her. She was sure that she also fell into the second category, at least as far as Marie knew. Samantha wasn't his girlfriend, but 'a case' or 'an important lead.' Whatever sounded plausible to his wife when he didn't come home for a third night in a row. Soon it became hard for him to quantify her as that; just like with work, emotions could get in the way. She shook her head. Most affairs ended because of guilt. Guilt because there was a wife or kids at home. Jack had ended theirs out of guilt as well, but not just because of his family. He could no longer dismiss her.  
  
And she believed that's why she had a 9:30 am flight scheduled out of La Guardia the next morning.   
  
There was a knock on the door and she knew instinctively that it was him. Crossing the room, she looked through the peephole out of habit before opening the door. Swinging it open, she didn't wait for him to enter before walking back into the living room.   
  
Jack had expected that. "Hey."  
  
"Hello." She responded, not trying to disguise the coolness of her tone. Seeing him wince, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction. A relationship often created subtle nuances between its participants and she had just betrayed one of them.   
  
He stood in the doorway for a few moments before he tried again. "I tried calling, but you didn't return my messages."   
  
Staring at the counter, she ran a fingernail along a small crack. "Some people might have taken that as a hint."   
  
"A hint to what? That you've been avoiding me? Not answering my calls or pages? I know that. I just want to know why." At her incredulous expression, he raised his hands. "What?"   
  
Taking a breath, Samantha fought to stay rational. "I could have understood you not telling me. I know there's protocol to be followed, but to learn the reason for all of this the way I did..." She pressed her palms against the surface. "I just thought I deserved more than that."   
  
"They told you why?" He leaned against the arm of the couch, trying to imagine whose idea it might have been to tell her. Cameron had been clear; only the subject of her promotion would be brought up.   
  
Nodding, she made her way around the couch and sat on the opposite edge. Her body language was tense with anger, but her knees were shaking. "Why?"   
  
He sat closer now, but far enough away to give her space. "It was either this or they were going to press harder in an OPR review. I had two choices. Promotion or termination. I didn't have an option."   
  
She stared at him. "This wasn't your choice?"   
  
It was his turn to stare. "Is that what they told you?"   
  
"They said that it was a forced transfer to Washington and that it was ordered by you. What was I supposed to think?"   
  
Standing, Jack walked to the other side of the room. "Did you ever consider asking me about this instead of making assumptions about my motivations? How could you think..." He lowered his voice. "Why the hell would I do something like that?"   
  
"You've been investigated recently. You're trying to reconcile with your wife. It would make your life a lot easier."   
  
Had she spoken to Van Doran? "That's bullshit, Sam, and you know it."   
  
She did know it. Why was she trying to push him away? Shrugging, she sank lower into the cushions. "All I know is what I was told."   
  
"I fought this. I didn't have a choice."   
  
"In your mind, maybe. Did you ever think to ask me my opinion? If maybe I'd rather be fired than shipped off like government property?"   
  
The truth is he hadn't. Hadn't because he had seen an out not for himself, but for her. "If the decision had been mine, I would never have made it. I was between a rock and a hard place and I made the only decision I could have at the time."   
  
They sat in silence for several minutes before Samantha spoke again, almost tentatively. "I don't want to go."   
  
He noticed for the first time that night how young she looked. She was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. He had also never seen her appear as vulnerable as she was at that moment. Taking a risk, he reached an arm across the back of the couch and drew it across her shoulders, pulling her closer. Relieved when she didn't pull away, he allowed himself to tighten his hold. "I know."   
  
"I could quit." The words rang false even as she said them. There was nothing left for her in New York without her job. Professionally or personally. The only person she had truly grown close to in five years now spent his nights across the city with his wife.   
  
"No you couldn't."   
  
She felt his lips in her hair and tried not to cry. "I don't know how to do your job, Jack. I don't think I'm qualified for this."   
  
"I've been censured twice in the last year. I think you'll be an improvement." He was relieved when he felt her stifle a laugh.   
  
Neither of them moved until Samantha felt her arm starting to fall asleep. Extricating herself from his grasp, she stood. "Can I call you for advice?"   
  
"You can just call me."   
  
She smiled at his uncharacteristic response. Their eyes met for a moment until he looked away. "I'm sure you have stuff to do. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay."   
  
For as angry as she had been just moments before, Samantha felt overcome with an odd sense of calm. "Yeah. Movers are coming at 8 am, which is right about the time I should be getting to the airport."   
  
Jack walked toward the door, but stopped in the foyer. "Do you need a ride?"   
  
"I'm taking a shuttle, but thanks."   
  
Nodding, he took two steps closer to her. "I'll miss you."   
  
There weren't any etiquette books that covered how to say goodbye to someone you had a relationship with, but never should have. Who you loved when they couldn't love you back.   
  
"I'll miss you, too."   
  
The hug was stiff at first. Awkward. Not like on the couch minutes before. Seconds passed before Samantha relaxed and slid her arms around his waist, under his coat. They stood like that for several moments before she felt his lips touch hers lightly. Seconds passed, but it never deepened. It was a comforting kind of contact, and for a moment she wondered what it meant before pushing it out of her mind.  
  
Jack gave her one final smile and turned to open the door behind him. He was halfway out when he heard her call after him.   
  
"I almost forgot." She scribbled her address and telephone number on a takeout menu, having packed all of her notepads in the fifth box. "Just in case."   
  
Pocketing the folded paper, his eyes met hers one last time. "Thanks." She waited until he was out the door before she started to cry.   
  
TBC. 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N-- This is just a rather short, exposition heavy chapter. Nothing wholly significant happens here, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. It will start moving forward again with chapter four. Many, many thanks to M for the beta and encouragement. Big wave to Maple Street.  
  
Continued from chapter two.  
  
Chapter Three  
  
The position in Washington didn't come exactly as advertised; Samantha was no longer part of a team. She, in essence, was the unit; there were no active cases on her desk, no missing people to find. She conceived models for field offices throughout the country and oversaw their departmentalization. Special Agent in Charge of Federal Planning and Development. A heady title for a job that any green agent with a working knowledge of Bureau structure could do.  
  
It did have its merits; her workday began at nine and ended at five. With no immediate supervisor she could come and go as she pleased. A large office, an expense account--all benefits that every agent in their right mind worked toward.   
  
She never had.  
  
She had joined the FBI for all the cliche reasons most agents recited: justice, the intensity, wanting to make a difference. Some people lost that, but she had never wavered from why she had pursued the career in the first place. It had lived up to her expectations in that she felt she had helped others, but the job had brought with it an opportunity to assert herself in a way she couldn't with the NYPD. She had found respect -- something that been missing up until she arrived at Quantico.  
  
Her assignment to the New York office had also placed her in a unit of people that had become as close to her as she allowed. Vivian, Danny, and Martin had become friends. Jack was the closest personal relationship she had had since the early part of her decidedly brief marriage. For all the reservations she had about the job, about DC, about the real reasons she was here, what she missed most was the people with whom she had shared the better part of the last four years.  
  
Which is why when Danny called three weeks after her arrival she nearly dropped the phone in relief.  
  
"How's it going?" He sounded upbeat and she contemplated lying before deciding on honesty.  
  
"It's been the longest three weeks of my life."  
  
"Oh." A horn beeped in the background.  
  
"Are you in the car?"  
  
"I'm actually right outside work. Martin and I are supposed to go interview this secretary about her boss. He disappeared three days ago-- no luggage or ID, but a two million dollar transfer out of the company account was made six hours before he went missing."  
  
She cleared her throat. "Sounds like a no-brainer."  
  
"Yeah, he's in the Caymans."  
  
"Do the others share your opinion?"  
  
"Martin and Vivian do. I think Jack's just sending us out on this to give Melissa the experience while we're slow."  
  
"Melissa?" she asked tentatively.  
  
There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line and she could tell Danny was formulating a response. "The new agent they brought in to fill in for your absence."  
  
She shook her head. "You make it sound like I'm coming back and not sentenced to a life of paperwork and conference calls." Silence. "So, what's she like?"  
  
"Arrogant. Incompetent. Really poor personal hygiene."  
  
Moving the headset from one ear to the other, she sighed. "Now give me the non-Samantha answer."  
  
"She's okay. A bit inexperienced, but she's catching on pretty quickly. Vivian's helping her out a little. I think Martin's just happy not to be the newest member of the team now."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"She's married and has two kids. Must be close to 40; I don't think she'll go to strip clubs with me."  
  
Her mood was already improving. "I never went to strip clubs with you."  
  
"True."  
  
She could hear Martin's voice in the background now. "So, how is everyone?"  
  
"Pretty much the same, actually. Viv took a few vacation days about a week ago. We just wrapped up a case with two missing brothers from upstate. Police found them both dead in a boathouse."  
  
That was always rough. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Jack's been a real asshole since you left."  
  
She choked. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Yeah. Snapping at everyone, always in a bad mood. He's been really hard to work with. Melissa almost asked for a transfer the first week until Vivian talked her down."  
  
Swallowing hard, she tried to keep her voice nonchalant. "Why do you think that has anything to do with me?"  
  
There was the sound of an engine starting. "I don't know, but if it doesn't the timing is pretty coincidental."  
  
"I doubt that's it."  
  
The connection went bad for a moment, muffling his response. A moment later, he spoke again. "How's Washington?"  
  
"It's...clean." Her response sounded flippant, but it was the first positive that came to mind.  
  
"Samantha says Washington's clean." Danny said to his passenger and she could practically hear Martin's blank stare. He spoke back into the phone. "What's your day like?"  
  
"I sit at my desk for eight hours before going home and watching television."  
  
"No friends?"  
  
"The only people who speak to me willingly either want approval for funding or a date." She had close to a dozen offers in her three-week residency in DC, and she had turned down each of them.  
  
"Not interested?" Danny was surprised, too.  
  
No, but for all the wrong reasons. "I'm not interested in seeing anyone right now."  
  
"Have you heard from Jack?"  
  
She was going to try to ignore the potential significance of that segue. What was he trying to say? "Jack? Not really. He's sent me a few emails. A couple articles related to what I'm doing--nothing outside that."  
  
It was the truth, and it hurt. No calls, no letters, no correspondence at all outside of a few forwards. Occasionally he'd add a 'Hope you're doing well' to the header, but to an observer it would seem to be the epitome of professionalism.  
  
Maybe that was the point. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Just curious. Maybe his mood would improve if you'd give him a call."  
  
"Why would a call from me have any bearing on his mood? And a phone works both ways; he has my number." She cringed at her tone; she sounded like a jilted high school girlfriend.  
  
"Whatever you say." His voice was light and Samantha wanted to hit him. "Listen, I better go. I'll try to call you this weekend." There was another voice on the other end. "Martin will too."  
  
"Okay." Now that the call was at an end she wanted nothing more desperately than for it to continue. "I'll be looking forward to it."  
  
"Me too."  
  
Setting the phone back in the receiver, she contemplated calling Jack before deciding against it. He was likely finishing up his work before heading home to his wife and his kids and the life he was trying so hard to reconstruct. Turning out the light in her office, she shut the door behind her before heading back to her apartment for another night alone.  
  
TBC 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N-- Many thanks to M for the always amazing beta. Continued love to Maple Street for being the best forum out there. You all rock!   
  
Continued from chapter three.  
  
Chapter Four:  
  
Jack didn't miss her the first week.  
  
It wasn't as though he was trying to put her out of his mind; it was just hard to notice her absence when her signature was on nearly every document and her nameplate still sat on the edge of her desk. She hadn't taken it when she had left and no one had seen fit to remove it. It was unspoken, but he doubted anyone wanted to be the one to discard the last physical reminder of Samantha that still existed in the office.  
  
In the second week her replacement arrived. Melissa Armstrong, 37, from Hartford, Connecticut. Physically and emotionally different from Samantha in every way, and he wondered if subconsciously he had made that choice intentionally. Soon, her name replaced Samantha's on files and she was the one he would see during an interview when he'd look over to meet Sam's eyes out of habit. Melissa had been the one to place Samantha's nameplate in the box that first morning. He supposed it was then that he started to miss her.  
  
He tried hard to keep that from the others. After all, they all missed Samantha in some capacity. She and Vivian had never been very close, but they worked extremely well together. Danny was probably the closest thing she had to a real friend in New York. She and Martin had butted heads in the beginning, but respect grew over time. He had also noticed that Martin seemed to harbor some feelings for her; Jack wondered if she was even aware.  
  
The harder Jack had tried to maintain his professionalism, however, the harder the team seemed to look for cracks in the facade.  
  
It had been a normal meeting, the five of them sitting around the table discussing a timeframe when Martin and Danny's debate over a discrepancy increased in volume, if not in substance. A warning, then two, and then Jack had come out of his chair. Danny looked surprised, Melissa looked uncomfortable, and Vivian looked as though she knew exactly what was behind his minor explosion. It wasn't an unprecedented outburst, but an atypical one for the situation. There was irony in that he wished he could blame his outburst on Samantha's departure. The truth was he was just tired.  
  
Tired of working 17 hour days and then going home and working on his marriage. Tired of interrogating suspects only to go home and get interrogated by his wife. He had told Marie about the 'change' in the office and while her face was unreadable, he thought he might have seen a small smile emerge. He couldn't blame her for that, but he wanted to. So, maybe in that respect he could attribute his change in attitude to Samantha.  
  
Not to missing her, but not being able to miss her.  
  
It was week three when he started sleeping on the couch.  
  
He hadn't had a particularly bad day, nor had he had an argument with Marie. It was just that all of a sudden he couldn't fathom making the trip up the stairs to their bedroom. He told himself he was just tired, that he needed one night to himself after 47 nights with her. The reality of it was that after living a lie for so long, he was starting to question which lie was the truth.  
  
He had started sharing Marie's bed again out of a sense of duty and a real desire to make it work. The incident with Barry Mashburn had instilled a sense of purpose of sorts, a sense that was challenged by his wife's less than receptive reaction to his homecoming. Kate-- and later, Hanna-- had been thrilled to have their father back, and despite Marie's skepticism, she had been motivated to try to live as they had before the marriage had started to crumble.  
  
In those weeks they had sex one time, and it was one of the most physically cold experiences of Jack's life. You could fake reconciliation, but it was becoming clear that you couldn't fake feeling.   
  
You also couldn't hide feeling, which is why he was sitting across from Marie at the kitchen table, their breakfasts sitting untouched as she stared at the wall behind his head.  
  
"I don't know what else to say. I came home late and didn't want to wake you. The couch was there." The words seemed familiar even as he said them.  
  
Shaking her head, she finally looked at him. "This is how is started before, Jack. We make an concerted effort to make this work and soon you end up sleeping downstairs. Or at the office or anywhere else other than the one place you should be. Hanna found you this morning. How do you think that makes her feel?"  
  
Shit. That prospect had never even occurred to him. He tried to come up with a response--any response--but was cut off.  
  
"The girls have had enough turmoil in their lives this year without constantly having to wonder if their father will be living at home any given week. It's unfair to them." Stabbing at a piece of cantaloupe with her fork, she continued. "It's unfair to me."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry." It sounded weak, but it was at least true.  
  
They ate in silence before Marie stood to clear the plates. Placing them in the sink, her back was to him before she spoke again. "It's not someone else again, is it?"  
  
The words hit him like a physical blow, but he kept his voice level. "No."  
  
"Because I know she's somewhere else now, but it's awfully hard to trust you given your history." She practically spit the last word.  
  
"There's no one else."  
  
A dish hit the bottom of the sink hard. "You can't blame me for being suspicious. You slept with your subordinate for the better part of a year while I sat at home wondering if you were working too hard."  
  
How many times could he say he was sorry and still mean it? "She's gone, Marie. Hundreds of miles away. I haven't even spoken to her on the phone."  
  
"Who's next? An office assistant? That new agent? Someone in the mailroom?"  
  
From all the complications that had arisen out of the affair, the answer to her question was probably the biggest. His relationship with Samantha hadn't began because he was seeking out meaningless sex with the closest woman he could find, or a physical outlet from the stress of the job. The first night wasn't meant to be an escape from his marriage; perhaps then he wouldn't feel the pervasive guilt he had lived with for so many months. His feelings for Samantha had transcended his feelings for his wife, and that was one truth he simply couldn't tell.  
  
"Yeah, someone in the mailroom." Pushing back in his chair hard, he rose to his feet. "I'll be at work."   
  
Minutes later, he slammed the door on his way out.  
  
Work seemed interminable that day. Interviews, leads, and filings punctuated by pages he ignored. While he couldn't find a reason to be angry with Marie over the insinuations she'd made that morning, he couldn't find a reason not to be. It was selfish, but over the last few weeks he had found himself lapsing deeper and deeper into self-pity mode. Samantha leaving was the proverbial straw, but it had been building since the Samir case. He found himself losing sight of why he had ever taken the job in the first place. Wondering if he should allow himself to be happy despite ruining the lives of everyone around him. It had taken its toll, loving Samantha at the expense of Marie. Being with Marie because he had sacrificed Samantha.  
  
And that was probably the biggest irony of them all. Both of his lives--the lives he had juggled for over a year-- were destroying each other.  
  
Vivian entered and he started. "Sorry. I didn't hear you knock."  
  
Smiling, she took a seat across from his desk. "Probably because I didn't."  
  
He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What's up?"  
  
"Just talked to an Agent Waxman down at headquarters. Apparently our guy is out of our hands. There not even sure he's in the country anymore, so I guess we're just in a holding pattern. I told him we'd fax our reports down there this afternoon."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"What's the new assignment?"  
  
Looking at his desktop, he sighed. "I'm still correlating all that. I'll be out in a few minutes."  
  
Vivian had never seen Jack as distracted as he had been over the last several weeks. "Okay."  
  
He nodded and opened a file sitting to his right. Thumbing through the pages, he heard her open the door before speaking. "Oh, by the way...Danny talked to Samantha this afternoon."  
  
Willing his eyes not to betray him, he affected a look of mild interest. "How is she?"  
  
"She said the job's going well and that Washington is a nice city."  
  
"Good."  
  
She tried another tack. "She's also very lonely."  
  
"I'm sure someone like Samantha won't have any trouble meeting people."   
  
"Jack."  
  
He nodded toward the door. "I really have to get started on this, so if there's nothing else..."  
  
The door closed behind her and he willed himself to think of anything else. Anyone else but the woman that was occupying more and more of his thoughts as the hours went on. He needed to call his wife to apologize for what had taken place that morning, to not waste a second chance over six hours of sleep on a hard couch. He needed to start work on this case, to be the leader he hadn't been for quite some time.  
  
Instead he opened the drawer to his left and removed the menu for China King on 53rd. The blue ink was slightly blurred from the week it had spent in his trench coat pocket, but Samantha's scrawl was still legible.  
  
Their relationship was over, he reminded himself as he picked up the phone. There wasn't anything illicit in a boss calling to check on how a former employee was doing, he justified as it rang once, then twice. On the fourth ring the machine picked up and he heard her voice for the first time in weeks.  
  
He left a message with a number only she would recognize.  
  
Now he could only wait.  
  
TBC 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N-- Eternal thanks to M, for without her this story would have died a sudden death. Her incredible encouragement and beta were a real story lifesaver. Thanks also to A and S and the rest of my beloved Maple Street, from which I never, ever want to move. ;)  
  
Continued from chapter four.  
  
Chapter Five:  
  
Shuffling through her mail, Samantha almost missed the blinking message light as she made her way into the kitchen. Tossing the envelopes on the counter, she pressed the button and walked to the refrigerator. Expecting a call from work, she stopped in her tracks when she heard his voice.  
  
"Hey, Sam. Just wanted to call and see how things were going in your new assignment. I'll be in an out of the office all day, so if you get this message give me a call back tonight." He went on to leave a number she didn't have to write down.  
  
Dinner forgotten, she stepped closer to the answering machine as if it might lend a clue to the motivation behind Jack's call. Grabbing the portable from its base, she checked the clock. Just after nine. She took a deep breath and dialed.  
  
"Hotel Wolcott."   
  
"Jack Malone's room, please." For a short moment she had contemplated hanging up. Not because she didn't want to talk to him, but because in recent days it had become easier not to think about him, or New York, at all. It was a comforting sense of denial, but as the phone started to ring she felt an odd sort of relief.  
  
"Hello."   
  
"Hey."  
  
The television had been loud in the background, but not anymore. "Hey, how are you?"  
  
"I'm doing well. Long time no speak."  
  
He cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. It's been really busy around here."  
  
It was an excuse, but she hadn't called him either. "It's fine. How are things with you?"  
  
Deciding for the safe approach, he started with work. "We've solved a couple since you... left. One stranger abduction and a woman on the run from her husband. "  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. She just neglected to tell anyone else that."  
  
"Nice. So, uh, how's your family?"  
  
To anyone else, the question might have seemed callous. Ironic, at the very least. Jack was probably the one person who knew, or could believe, that sincerity existed behind the query. "They're doing fine. Hanna just got a part in the school play; Kate's jealous. Sibling stuff."  
  
"And Marie?"  
  
He stared at the phone. Maybe courage was fueled by distance, but he couldn't remember if Samantha had ever referred to his wife by name. "We're working through some issues."  
  
Diplomatic. "Is that why you're staying at a hotel?"  
  
"We had an argument this morning and I have to be back in the office early. I thought it would be best for both of us to have a night apart." He knew the significance of why he was staying at this hotel wouldn't be lost on Samantha, just as he knew she would recognize the telephone number. The decision not to go home was made early in the day when he realized that he couldn't very well have this conversation with Marie in the next room. Work didn't afford enough time.  
  
It was almost comedic. Checking into a hotel to have an adulterous phone relationship.  
  
"Is that why you're calling me? You had a fight with her?"  
  
I had a fight with her because I haven't been calling you. "No. If anything I wasn't going to call at all."  
  
She had to admire his honesty. "What made you change your mind?"  
  
"I realized I should." He'd realized he should despite all the reasons he shouldn't. Removing Samantha from his life wouldn't remove the conflict from his job or the strain in his marriage, despite what the FBI or his wife believed. "You know, you could have called me."  
  
Standing, she walked out toward the living room. "Calling you is a bit more complicated now." She dropped into a chair. "We need some kind of secret code."  
  
He snorted. "What, like pig latin?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
An awkward moment passed as she considered how to broach the next subject. "How's your leg doing?"  
  
"It's fine. The only time I ever notice it is if I sit down for too long." She didn't add that it was nearly every day. Desk work was proving to be more taxing than her old assignment.  
  
Jack shifted gears. "Do you like the new job?"  
  
She stood and picked up her mail on the way to the kitchen again. "I'm slowly getting settled. I spend most of my days in meetings. It's...different."  
  
"How's their office there? Is it nice?"  
  
"Pretty nice. It's interesting being at the center of everything, but my area shares a floor with the ATF so I feel incredibly dull in comparison."  
  
"Missing persons work is the most exciting aspect of law enforcement." His tone was indignant.  
  
She sat on her bed. "You don't believe that."  
  
"No."  
  
"Who's the section head down there?"  
  
"Assistant Director Nieper."  
  
He knew Nieper. Regarded as one of the best profilers they had on the east coast. 37 years with the bureau; he had to be nearing 70. Jack let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "He's a great agent."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Who else do you work with?"  
  
"There are two other people working on the project, but I rarely see them. An older man that mainly works on recruiting and requisitions and then a guy who kind of reminds me of Martin. Idealistic, really motivated. They both seem nice."  
  
"You don't spend any time with them outside the office?"  
  
Raising an eyebrow, she opened the freezer. "In my experience it's usually a bad idea to date in the workplace."  
  
He sighed, but said nothing.  
  
"It's just a different atmosphere here." she clarified. "More political. I go to work, then I come home. I don't come in contact with a lot of people at work and I haven't really been up to socializing."  
  
He knew better than to push. "Just give it time, Sam. You seemed to have a hard time adjusting when you first came here, too."   
  
She had. The jump from the NYPD to the government had been a big one, but she could credit the difficulty there to the difference in bureaucracy. It wasn't that simple this time. "I got over that pretty quickly, though."  
  
Leaning against the counter, she began opening the mail. "I talked to Danny. He said things have been going along smoothly there."  
  
"It's been okay."  
  
"How is Melissa?"  
  
He coughed, and she wondered if he was stalling for time. "She's not you."  
  
She smiled into the phone, remaining silent.  
  
A few seconds passed. "Did you find a decent place to live?"  
  
"It doesn't have the charm of my last apartment, but it's adequate." She looked at the empty walls. She hesitated to decorate because she had chosen to believe that this was temporary, that she'd be going back. Now she wondered how much time had to pass before she faced the reality of the situation.  
  
He smirked. "I've been to your old apartment. That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."  
  
"Yeah, well."  
  
He heard a rustling sound. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Fixing dinner." she replied, opening the microwave.  
  
He looked at his watch. "You're just now eating?"  
  
"And that surprises you?"  
  
She had a point. After a few years in their line of work one quickly became accustomed to eating on the loosest of schedules. "Lean Cuisine?"  
  
"Which kind? Orange beef?"  
  
"Baked chicken."  
  
"I almost said baked chicken."  
  
She laughed. It was rare that she saw this side of Jack, and she felt their old comfort level starting to reemerge. "It was my only option. I have bottled water and cereal bars in my fridge right now."  
  
"No takeout?"  
  
"It's just not the same here."  
  
The last statement seemed almost resigned, and he wondered if she was talking about more than the food. "I'm sure you'll find something. It's only been a few weeks."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
It was getting late. "I'm meeting Danny tomorrow at 5am to head upstate-- three interviews near Albany. I should be going."  
  
"Me too." She didn't have to go, didn't want to go, but prolonging the conversation would only make it more difficult later. She realized too late that this was their first real conversation not as a boss and subordinate, not as lovers, but as friends.  
  
Now he was in New York, she was in D.C., and a marriage and several hundred miles stood between them. Maybe it would be simpler to say goodbye for good. She was considering just that when he spoke again.  
  
"Do you want to have dinner Friday?"  
  
She stopped in her tracks. "Excuse me?"  
  
"One of our cases just got transferred to headquarters as part of a fraud investigation. It might be advantageous for the receiving agents to get briefed by the lead on the case."  
  
She shook her head, slightly incredulous. "Which would be you." At his answering silence, she continued. "Wouldn't that look a little contrived?"  
  
"As long as any loose ends are tied up on our existing cases, I don't think it matters how it looks."  
  
"I don't know if it's a good idea. I mean, your marriage..."  
  
"...will be here when I get back. I'm not propositioning you; it's just a case-enabled reason to have dinner together."  
  
Closing her eyes for a moment, she ran through all the logical reasons she should say no before answering.  
  
"Friday's good."  
  
TBC 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N- Much adoration to M for her wonderful beta and enthusiasm. As always, love to Maple Street.

Continued from chapter five.

Chapter Six:

Samantha had never played the role of home wrecker.

She, of course, realized how it must look to observers. A young, blonde, stereotypically pretty agent on the rise sleeping with her older, married boss. She was the villain in every Lifetime movie, the antagonist in every novel. The story always went the same way: the woman sleeps with her unhappily married supervisor. Wracked with guilt, the unhappily married supervisor tells his wife, sending the marriage on a slippery slope to divorce. The mistress, not content to wait for the ramifications of her actions, pressures the unhappily married supervisor to commit. When it appears he and his wife are on the road to reconciliation, the young, blonde, stereotypically pretty woman attempts to kill the wife, the resulting angst reaffirming the bond of marriage and leaving the mistress in a jail cell or the morgue.

Her affair with Jack had gone off that track shortly after the second plot point. The problem with fiction is that it never shows the other side.

The mistress was never supposed to fall in love with her boss; it was only supposed to be about sex and advancement. The boss wasn't supposed to give her gifts on her birthday or hold her hand while they watched a video together in her apartment. And she imagined that was her mistake, letting herself become a plot device in the most significant relationship of her life.

It hadn't started that way, exactly. At least not in any way to which Jack would readily admit. Despite the fact that their attraction was never just about the physical, that didn't stop him from telling her that what they had done was stupid. A miscalculation on his part and that he didn't want to bring down her career.

Her career. Not his own, not his marriage, but her job. He was being selfless and she hated him for it; hated him because it laid all the responsibility at her feet while making her wonder: was she just a cliche? Had he slept with her because his marriage was failing? Desperate for intimacy, as Farrell had said?

The second night they slept together, he had taken it back.

Lying in bed that night, she had watched him sleep. Wondering if he was going to wake up and express the same regrets, leave her like he did just the week before. He did wake up and she tentatively told him her own reservations, about his family and how she didn't want to be the catalyst for its unraveling. He had remained silent for several minutes before he ran a hand through her hair and told her that his marriage had started to come apart long before she had walked into his office.

His office. It always came back to work.

It did relieve her of some guilt, however. All the signs of a fractured marriage had been there; she had seen him ignore his pages and head in the opposite direction of his home after work. She knew that in many ways he was trying to make it work with Marie, and in an ironic way, it helped to justify their own relationship. He wasn't with her because he was escaping his marriage; he was with her despite his attempts to catch back up with it.

So, she had never played the role of home wrecker, and she wasn't about to start now.

Jack had asked her to dinner on the phone, from a hotel where he was staying at so he didn't have to go home and share a bed with his wife. Didn't have to go home and work on the marriage that he had seemed so reinvested in before she had left for Washington.

It begged the question: Had her absence somehow idealized what they had in Jack's eyes, or had he and Marie fought because sometimes, despite the best intentions, it just isn't meant to be?

Ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach, she picked up the phone. Getting his voicemail, she left a message telling him that she would be unavailable Friday night, that she was sorry, and that maybe they could catch up another time.

Maybe she wouldn't have played the role of home wrecker, but she didn't want to take that chance.

The message hadn't surprised him as much as her tone.

It had been clipped, professional. Almost as though she had been calling to cancel a dentist's appointment rather than canceling a dinner with someone with whom she had once been intimately acquainted.  Confused, he ran through the potential reasons. A meeting was unlikely; no one would schedule a briefing for a Friday night this far in advance. Samantha herself had vented about little she had to do in the new assignment, so to credit a backlog of work would seem to be a reach.

Their phone call the other night was awkward. It had been cordial, but he had sensed that she was making small talk to avoid something more consequential. Had she been upset that he hadn't called earlier? In retrospect, he probably should have, but they were both trying to get on with their lives and create some distance emotionally just as the FBI had done physically by shipping her to another office. Giving her a new career path, a new life. Getting her away from him.

Maybe she was drawing the line in the sand.

Marie had drawn her own that morning, asking him not to come back until he could show he was serious about being a part of their marriage. The relief he felt had brought with it a fresh wave of guilt.

"Jack, I was just about to leave for the day." It was Martin.

"Did you finish the report on the Gordine case?"

He looked at the floor. "No, but the filing date isn't until Tuesday, so I figured it could wait until I got back in here tomorrow."

"Today, please."

His eyes lifted in surprise. "It's already getting pretty late and I wanted to get a night off this week."

The pressure behind Jack's eyes was building and he suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there. "And I wanted to close this case. Finish the goddamned report." He didn't have the energy to yell.

Melissa had chosen that instant to walk into the office and witness the exchange; Jack saw her trade a look with Martin and immediately exit, with him following quickly behind.

The door slammed and he was left alone. In all respects.

"I know I haven't been working here long, but he has issues."

Melissa and Martin sat at the table, files spread between them. Looking at her, he spoke guardedly. "He's had a rough year."

"His marriage?"

Martin stared at her.

"I know the signs."

"He and his wife have been having some problems. There have been issues here; just political stuff with some old cases.  Samantha leaving didn't help." Wondering already if he had overstepped his bounds, he clarified. "The upheaval in the team."

She nodded. "She worked here awhile, it's to be expected."

They worked in silence for several minutes before she tried again. "Why did she get transferred?"

The question surprised Martin, only because it was the one subject that hadn't been broached since Samantha left. There were rumors and even a consensus around the office, but no one had dared to speak openly about it. He gave her a look of practiced indifference. "She was promoted."

"Jack seems to be taking her absence pretty hard," she said with an odd tone.

He put down his pen. "What are you getting at?"

"I've been here long enough to hear people talk. It just seems like his behavior can be attributed more than just to 'upheaval in the team.'"

"They were close, yes, but her promotion was on her own merit, I'm sure."

 "I'm sure."

Was that sarcasm? "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just hate to see this unit compromised because the lead is still getting over the loss of an agent with notoriously loose morals and a so-so service record."

"That's very judgmental of you." He hadn't seen this side of her before. "Where did you hear that, the secretarial pool? You're basing your opinion of a great agent on a bunch of innuendo. Jack and Samantha worked together well, but there's nothing to support that it was anything more than that." 

And that was true. There wasn't anything to prove that their relationship had ever gone beyond that of two colleagues, on the record at least. He knew, but that was based on the most circumstantial of evidence. An overheard conversation and a quick moment on a bench before a SWAT team had come to take her away. The latter had made him feel like a voyeur. 

Standing, Melissa pushed her chair back under the table. "You're probably right. All I'm saying is that the working environment needs to get a little better around here if you don't want another transfer."

Martin watched her leave, at that moment not caring if there was another transfer and wondering how one person could cause such turmoil from 600 miles away.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: A huge debt of gratitude to M for the beta and all the support. Big thanks to B for a very influential line. And, of course, huge :wub: to Maple Street. Best. Forum. Ever.

Continued from chapter six.

Chapter Seven:

Samantha had cancelled their dinner, and Jack didn't know why. Didn't know if it was because she wanted out of his life, of if she just thought she should be. Perhaps the reminder of their office, their relationship, was just too much baggage to bring with her to Washington.

Samantha had cancelled their dinner, and Jack didn't know why he was walking down a third floor hallway of the J. Edgar Hoover building with a visitor's badge clipped to his lapel, an office number in his hand and no real idea as to why he was there in the first place. 

Scanning the gray walls, he passed rows of brown plaques until he found the one he was looking for.

C-16.

He found the door ajar and caught sight of her through the opening. Leaning over her desk, she was gesturing toward the monitor to someone outside his narrow range of vision. It was a one-sided vantage point, but from her body language he could tell that whatever she was looking at on the screen was a breakthrough of some kind, and the person she was talking to simply wasn't getting it. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip and her shoulders pointed away, not toward, the source of her frustration. He was, by profession, an observer, but observing Samantha had also become a hobby.

He stepped away from the door as it opened; the man he wasn't able to see before had moved away from the desk and was now on his way out. Nearly colliding with him, the other agent offered an apology and a cautious smile when he took note of Jack's visitor badge.

"Were you here to see Agent Spade?"

For the first time since he had boarded the shuttle, he wondered if this was a bad idea. "I..."

"Yes, he is." Samantha approached an even smile. "Charles Warren, this is Special Agent Jack Malone. He was my supervisory agent in New York."

At that, Warren's smile brightened. "It's nice to finally meet. I've heard a lot about you."

Jack kept his face neutral as he wondered if Samantha had brought up his name or if his reputation as the Northeast's most notoriously rogue agent had preceded him. "I can only imagine."

Samantha coughed and Warren laughed uncertainly. "I better get going. I'll let you two catch up." He passed Jack and paused. "You should be proud; she's a great agent."

Jack caught her eyes. "Yes, she is."

Smiling awkwardly, Samantha waited until he was around the corner. Confident that he was out of earshot, she stared at Jack. "Why are you here?"

"What kind of greeting is that?"  
  


"I'm sorry." Not knowing if she should hug him or ask him to leave, she crossed her arms in front of her. "But why are you here?"

He motioned generically down the hall. "I came to drop off that file."

"That's why they have couriers."

"It was a very important file."

Her eyes darted around the office. "I thought we cancelled."

"No, you cancelled and didn't give me a reason."

"So you just showed up anyway?"

Now that he was standing in her office, in DC, it did seem more than a little impetuous. "Would I have seen you again otherwise?"

She took a step back and began stacking folders on her desk. "I've just been really busy this week."

"What are you going to do now?" When she didn't answer immediately, he took a step closer. "Did you want to grab dinner?"

She looked up and for the first time since he arrived he saw honest indecision cross her features. "I don't know. I have a lot of paperwork."

"You have all weekend."

Gesturing at her black suit, she frowned. "I'm not really dressed to go out."

"It's a business dinner."

"A business dinner?" She eyed him skeptically.

Nodding, he held the door as she picked up her briefcase.

"Martin said that?" Samantha laughed as the waiter reached across and refilled her wine glass. "What did the woman say?"

"Apparently she wasn't too offended. Ended up asking him out."

"I guess sometimes the best pick-up lines are unintentional."

They had walked the short distance from the Hoover building to a small Italian restaurant --more formal than the places they usually frequented, but not intimate enough to betray Jack's justification for having this meal at all. He imagined that she knew as well as he did that he hadn't brought her here to discuss a case or her new position, but so far they had only broached safe topics. The weather. Work. The news. It was familiar, and it had helped melt away much of the tension that had existed since their call earlier in the week. He had made a big overture by coming there, so he had decided before his arrival to let her dictate the boundaries.

"I've never used one."

"You never used what?"

"A pick-up line."

She looked incredulous. "You're kidding." He shook his head. "That's unusual. I've been the target of all of them, I think. How did you get dates?"

"The same way I got this one."

Raising an eyebrow, she took a bite of her salad. "By stalking women several hundred miles away and showing up at their office door? And I thought this was a business dinner."

"The process is the same."

"What about back in college? Not even then?"

He motioned for the server and ordered another drink. After he had left, he answered. "I didn't date a lot in college."

"Me neither."

Jack couldn't hide his surprise. "Really?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" She grinned.

"I just didn't take you as someone who would have a hard time getting dates."

Their dinners came and she paused a moment before answering. "I didn't say I couldn't get any. I was kind of a bookworm."

That was one thing he had never considered about her. "I always pictured you as more of the sorority type."

She knew Jack well enough to know that he didn't intend that as an insult; respect had never been a problem in their relationship, professionally or personally. "Nope. I was skinny, awkward. Mousy hair."

"I would have gone out with you."

Meeting his eyes, she was touched to see some sincerity there. She laughed nervously. "Until my ex-husband caught up with you."

She had mentioned her marriage only briefly, and he had never pursued the subject. Now, twisting some spaghetti around his fork, he took the opportunity. "Why didn't that work out?"

"He cheated on me." 

He stopped chewing.

"Not really." Pushing a cheese ravioli to one side, she speared another one with her fork. "It just didn't work out. We had different mindsets. I went to school full time and had a job, and he wanted a wife. Conflict of interests."

Jack smiled. "Sounds like it."

"I moved on, he moved on, and we haven't talked since."

"You didn't have any regrets?"

"My mom had more than I did. She was of the 'You made your bed, you should lie in it' mentality."

"You were 18."

She shrugged. "Apparently you're never too young to make life-altering mistakes."

Grimacing at the irony, Jack took another sip of his drink. "I was 33 when I got married. Sometimes the mistake's in not walking away."

"I should have married you. We'd be completely dysfunctional."

"I would have been far too old for you." 

Smirking, she took another bite of pasta. "As opposed to now?"

"33 and 18 is quite an age difference."

"So is 18 and three, but once you get to a certain age maturity takes over."

"In most cases."

He caught her staring as he cut into his chicken parmesan. "What?"

"I was just thinking how long it's been since we've had dinner together. Just the two of us, I mean."

It had been a long time. Before his reconciliation attempt with Marie. Before the Office of Professional Review had become involved and made them wary of even the most innocent contact. "Yeah, it's been awhile."

"Do you remember the last time?"

She had just stretched the boundary a little farther. He nodded at her to continue.

"You told me that we had to end...what we had, because even if you were never going back to your wife you didn't want to risk it coming out and causing even more problems."

It was true. He had ended their relationship that night, not just because of the potential ramifications of sleeping with his subordinate and putting the final stake through the heart of his marriage, but because the guilt had been intolerable. Not wanting to sacrifice one for the other, he could only sacrifice them both. He had broken it off with Samantha over lo mien and egg rolls in a crowded Chinese restaurant near their office. There hadn't been any tears or anger and Jack had felt like he was closing a business transaction more than a yearlong relationship with a woman he had come to love more than his wife.

Samantha had walked away and he had gone back to his apartment. The affair was over even if the feelings weren't.  "What are you saying?"

"I wonder why this is different."

"I just wanted to see you."

She gave him a dubious look and he was struck by how beautiful she was. Between the office and dinner she had removed her hair from the ponytail she had worn earlier, and that combined with the low lighting of the restaurant made her features appear very soft. "I'm sorry about earlier. I was just surprised to see you and to be honest I didn't know if I wanted to see you. I didn't know what your motivations were and I thought maybe I should just move on."

"I can understand that."

"Can you? Getting transferred to another job in another city. Having to move away from everything I've known for the last several years. Meanwhile, you have the same office overseeing the same people and can choose to go home to your family. I don't have any of that."

She had a point, but if only she knew that had all been complicated by her absence. "It's not that simple."

"It isn't?"

"The office hasn't been the same without you." It was an understatement and he could only hope she'd recognize that. He couldn't tell her that life hadn't been the same without her, that he was constantly reminded of her presence by the simplest things. He couldn't tell her that life had been the same without her, because they had never been allowed to think in those terms. For all intents and purposes, outside work, she had never existed in his life.

"Yeah, Danny said there have been some..." she tapped her fingers on the tablecloth. "...morale issues."

He nodded. "You know, new agent. There's been a change in dynamic. It's a transition time and it's just going to take some time for everyone to get used to that. Our caseload has been relatively light recently, and that's bound to keep the focus elsewhere."

"That's a very official answer."

Staring at his plate, he deliberated how much to admit to her. "I know Danny misses you, and even though he'd never admit it, I think Martin blames me for you being gone. Vivian's been trying to help Melissa. Tensions have just been high."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Do you miss me?" Her eyes didn't waver from his, and he could see an undercurrent of vulnerability there.

"Would I be here if I didn't?"  
  


Her eyes returned to her plate. "And all this time I thought you didn't trust the courier."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Leaning back to allow the server to clear their plates, she looked chagrined. "I'm sorry about that. I just didn't know if this 'business dinner' was a good idea."

"It's okay now?"

"I don't know."

Jack waved off an attempt to take their dessert order and fixed his attention on Samantha. "What does that mean?"

"When I left, you had shut me out almost completely. You were back with your family and I could respect that. At least you were moving forward; I thought maybe I could, too."

"I wasn't moving forward." He had moved back, literally and figuratively. It was something he was just beginning to admit to himself.

"That day, outside the courthouse, when you told me it was over...did you mean that?"

"Yes."

He could see her shoulders tense under her jacket. "Then what is all of this?"

"I told you it was over because at that moment in time it's what I thought was the right thing to do."

"And now?"

Having anticipated the question before his arrival, the answer rolled off his tongue. "I've been going through the motions for six weeks. I realized I wasn't reinvested in my marriage, but in the idea of my marriage. Marie and I have fought a dozen times since I moved back home and do you know how many of those times concerned you?"

Samantha looked tired all of a sudden. "No."

"One."

She looked up and he continued. "That's when I realized that distancing myself from you was never the answer. It just took you being gone to show what a non-factor you were in this."

"I don't know if I should be relieved or insulted."

Her laugh was uncomfortable, but some of the tension had been lifted. "Do you want to take a walk?"

She laid her credit card down and he looked at her quizzically.

"Bureau card. Business dinner, right? 'My former supervisor and I discussed unit models over dinner' sounds a little better than you flying down here to deliver a file I'm still not convinced exists."

He smirked. For all the stress and tension of the last few weeks, they had fallen back into their old routine fairly quickly. Secrets and lies, just this time for another reason. Sliding her card back to her, he replaced it with his own.

They walked in silence back toward the Hoover building, their fingers brushing occasionally; neither of them making an effort to distance themselves despite the humid night. For all the reservations Samantha had about his coming to see her, she suddenly found herself wanting to delay his departure.

"When are you leaving?"

"I'm getting the shuttle back at 11:45."

She stopped in her tracks. "Tonight?"

"I have to be back at the office tomorrow by nine. Some of us don't have nice nine-to-five jobs."

"Yeah, don't rub it in." She took a step and faced him now. "Are you sure you have to go now? You could catch an early flight--stay at my place."

He looked to his left, then his right, then back at her. "I think that wouldn't be a good idea."

"I think you flatter yourself. I was just going to offer you my couch."

They stepped aside to let a group of people pass, and Samantha leaned against a lamppost.  Utilizing the light, Jack checked his watch. "I really should get going."

"When will I see you again?"

"I don't know."

Between the unpredictable nature of his job and the equally tumultuous status of his marriage, he couldn't answer her. While he was off Bureau time, he was fairly sure that his superiors wouldn't look favorably on what he was doing right now. He was certain his wife wouldn't. One couldn't do anything about it and the other could. But standing on that sidewalk that night, he couldn't bring himself to care.

They were standing very close now, and he could feel Samantha's breath on his face as she spoke. "Will you call me?"

He nodded and felt her lips brush against his cheek as she leaned in for a hug.

Still in relatively safe territory, he told himself as his arms encircled her waist.

Her hands rested right above his belt and he could smell her hair.

It wasn't too late to pull back, he justified as he met her eyes for the first time since the restaurant.

Her lips pressed against his and he felt her hands run up his back.

He thought about Marie and all the reasons he shouldn't be doing this as he deepened the contact, her teeth grazing his lower lip as she responded.

Her smile was the first thing he saw when they separated several seconds later, and she still hadn't pulled away.

He thought about Marie and all the lies he had told to be here, with Samantha, at that moment. All the lies he and Samantha didn't have to tell after sharing their first kiss in a city where there would be no repercussions.

At that moment, he thought he had made his choice.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks to M, as always, for the wonderful beta and enthusiasm, and to B for helping me through a horrible block. Maple Street, you rock so hard it must hurt. Much love to you all!

Continued from chapter seven.

Chapter Eight:

Driving east, the sun was just beginning to rise as Jack drove through a small residential neighborhood. Reaching blindly for the glove compartment, he felt the frames of his sunglasses press into his palm. "Thanks."

"It's a little early to schedule an interview, isn't it?" Vivian lowered the visor and took another sip of coffee.

"Not when the interviewee works the night shift. Don't you like the sunrise?"

"You're chipper this morning."

"I'm chipper every morning."

"Apparently I just don't get to work early enough."

He tilted his head slightly. "Apparently not."

"Does this have anything to do with Samantha?"

"You don't waste any time getting to the point."

She nodded and he waited a few seconds to continue. "Have you been keeping tabs on me?"

"Three trips to DC as in many weeks. Somebody has to be."

Sighing, he pulled into the driveway of a two-story Tudor. "Some might consider that an invasion of privacy."

"Do you think the requisitions file themselves?"

"Then if you read them you know my reasons for going."

"Yes." She unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door. "The official ones, at least."

Staring ahead, he spoke in an even tone. "What makes you think there are unofficial reasons?"

Vivian looked down at her lap. "Jack, you know I don't want to pry into your personal business..."

"Has that ever stopped you before?"

"How is Samantha?"

He removed his hand from the door handle. "She's doing well. Still getting acclimated, I think. Better this last time."

She was looking at him now and he didn't meet her eyes. "Jack..."

"What?"

He could see her searching for the diplomatic answer. "You've just gotten your life back in order. I just hate to see you make the same mistake twice."

"Yeah, well. I appreciate your concern, but as far as I can tell this is the only thing in my life that's in order."

She closed the door again. "Whatever my reservations are about the nature of your relationship with Samantha..."

Jack looked at her, bemused. They had never actually had this conversation before, but the indirect comments had built up over the months to the point where he knew exactly where she stood on the subject. "You're assuming that Samantha and I have a relationship."

Rolling her eyes, she continued.  "Even putting aside your family, have you thought about your career?"

"To the best of my recollection, they transferred Samantha for just that reason."

"I don't think they counted on you following her."

"I'm not responsible for the short-sighted decisions of  the federal government." he countered, his tone equally light.

She tried a different approach. "Then what about hers?"

It was a fair question, and he had thought about the answer before now. The first time he had ended it with her, and then the second time when she had asked him to confirm it. That was selflessness, he had told himself at the time. Despite his feelings for her, he had walked away to protect her career. 

Then came the incident in the bookstore, which to some might have seemed like an act of selflessness. To some extent it might have been, but ultimately it was selfishness with a risk. He had been telling the truth when he told Barry that in that moment he would have been willing to trade his life for her, for in that moment the risk of losing her forever outweighed the potentiality of what could happen to him. As much as he feared his death, he feared life without her more.

"We're all responsible for our own decisions."

"With decisions come responsibilities."

He fingers closed around the steering wheel a little tighter. "That's very poetic of you, Vivian."

"Does Marie know where you've been going on the weekends?"

Jack hadn't noticed the line being crossed until she had stepped over it completely. "I don't think this is any of your business."

"How long have we worked together? Six years?"

He nodded.

"I think we've known each other long enough now that I can say something when I see a _friend_ doing something that he might be too close to the situation to see."

His mouth felt dry. "For example?"

"Your family? Have you considered how detrimental for them it might be for you to keep reemerging into their life only to fall back into the same bad habits?"

 "I don't consider her a bad habit." Smoking was a bad habit. His relationship with Samantha would probably be more accurately defined as a vice. An insatiable urge that, when repeated, starts to control everything around you. She was his addiction, but unlike smoking or drinking he wasn't convinced that his life wouldn't be better for it in the long run.

"I'm not trying to say Samantha isn't important to you, but you have to think about your girls. Your spouse. If my husband cheated..."

Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a hard breath. "If your husband cheated on you, you'd care. That's the difference. I come home to a frozen dinner in the microwave and an older daughter who doesn't give a damn that I exist."

"...and that's where responsibility comes in."

"I'm not the only one responsible." It wasn't the most mature of responses, but it was the truth, and he felt an odd sense of relief at being able to tell it to anyone besides Marie.

"I'm not saying you were." She looked at him tentatively. It was uncharacteristic, and Jack knew another line was about to be crossed. "I'm just suggesting that maybe you should take this as a sign. Use the distance as a way to finally walk away. Work on your family."

"Marie asked me to leave three weeks ago."

"I'm sorry." The response was more instinctual than out of any real sympathy and Jack was fine with that; he didn't deserve it any more than she thought he did.

"She told me not to come back until I came to a conclusion on where I stood in her life."

"Did you?"

"Yeah."

"And you haven't gone back?"

He didn't answer, instead letting her mind fill in the blanks.

"Do you love her?"

Not knowing who 'her' referred to, and knowing it didn't matter, he answered. "Yes."

"And you're willing to live with the ramifications?"

"In all honesty, Viv, I'm tired of not living with them."

After a year of lies and guilt and evasive maneuvers he actually found himself needing Marie's anger. Feeding off of it. Not just for justification, but because he felt he needed to pay dues in order to ever rationalize his happiness. It didn't relieve all of his guilt, but it made it easier to sleep at night. Who it made it easier to sleep with was the both the cause and effect of his problems.

"I'm trying not to judge Samantha..."

He stared at her in surprise. "Then don't."

"I'm just wondering if she's willing to live with the ramifications as well."

"She actually asked me not to come there because of them."

"And you went anyway?"

He nodded and opened the door again, stepping out onto the driveway; she walked around the car to join him. Crossing the sidewalk on the way up to the oak door, Vivian stopped for a moment. "You know, I just want you to be happy."

"Me too."

Her apartment building wasn't among the nicest in the District; it wasn't even the nicest on the street. It was older, with chipped paint in the corners and well-worn carpeting in the halls. Still, it had an elevator, which was more than she could say for her building in New York. She had yet to see a rat.

Her eyes tracked the ground out of habit, however, as she turned to enter the alcove outside her door. She saw the shoes first as a shadowy figure stepped out of the darkness.

Leaping backward out of instinct, she reached for the weapon she no longer carried. A hand grabbed her arm, not forcefully, and she looked up.

"Sorry." At least he had the good sense to look sheepish.

Her heart still racing, she met the eyes of her potential attacker. "Jesus, Jack."

Now he just looked amused. "Are you okay?"

"I'll let you know..." Her words were cut short when his lips met hers. After a moment, she relaxed into the pressure. Reluctant to end the contact, she pulled away and fumbled through her purse for her keys. "This is a surprise."

"Yeah, I was just passing by."

She raised an eyebrow. "How did you know I wasn't spending the weekend with my other boss?"

"I've seen Nieper."

It wasn't until they were inside the door under the light that Jack noticed her pale complexion and the rings under her eyes. "You don't look very good."

"That's not what Nieper says."

He shook his head. "Are you okay?"

Kicking off her shoes in the hall, she walked toward her bedroom. "I'm just exhausted. I'm getting over a cold and I've been in the office till 10 every night this week." Her voice grew more distant as she turned the corner. "We're starting a unit in New Orleans this week, so I'm finally getting to see what I'm facing here."

Standing in the doorway, he watched as she removed her shirt and slide a tank top over her head. "Isn't there anyone to help you?"

"Yeah, but they're not much help." She grabbed a pair of boxer shorts from her top drawer. "I don't know how you do it."

"I've always had good people."

She laid her skirt on the bed. "'Had' being the operative word, of course."

"Of course."

With a smile, she passed him on her way back into the living room. "Do you want something to drink?"

"I'll get it. You sit down."

She did as she was told and he knew she must be tired. Removing two glasses from the cupboard above the stove, he opened the refrigerator. "I'm sorry to come unannounced, but I have to escape while I can."

"You can come anytime, you know."

"Besides, there's something I wanted to talk to you about." He crossed over to where she sat on the couch. Handing her a glass, he took a seat next to her.

"Orange juice? What a practical choice."

"For your cold." He didn't add that he had several drinks before he had made his way to her building. Liquid courage, some might say. All he knew was that he was here despite his multiple attempts to talk himself out of the trip.

She smiled. "Thank you." Taking several sips, she stretched forward and placed the drink on the coffee table. She leaned back, closer this time. "How was your day?"

Jack was struck suddenly by how normal it felt to be there with her. "The usual. Closed another case. Spent three hours in Van Doran's office going over expense reports from last month."

"Nice. Did anything in particular catch her interest?"

"No." There had only been one trip to Washington on there; he had paid for the rest out of his own pocket. He had kept that to himself.

"Anything else?"

"Marie and I separated again."

The room fell silent and Jack watched as her mouth opened and closed several times as she tried to find an appropriate response. She settled for a nod and he realized the ball was still in his court.

"It was more a formality than anything else."

"Does she know?"

"About us? No."

He felt her leg tense next to his and reflexively he moved his hand to her knee. If she noticed the ring of pale skin where his ring used to be, she didn't comment, but her hand slid over his regardless. Entwining his fingers with hers, he stared at the carpet. "I didn't tell her, because that would only make it seem like this was the reason why."

She was watching him now. "And it's not?"

"It never was."  The realization had come to him not in some great epiphany, but as he was sitting next to Martin listening to a deposition. One minute he was theorizing as to the motive of a teenaged kidnapper, the next minute he was thinking about his own motive for the affair, for betraying his marriage.

It was then he realized he never had one. He was guilty of falling out of love with one woman before falling in love with another.

Her voice was tentative when she spoke again. "Where does that leave us?"

"Where do you want it to leave us?"

Resting her head on the back of the couch, she studied him. "Distance is really the only obstacle now, and obviously that doesn't seem to bother you."

His fingers trailed along her inner thigh, stopping at the slightly raised flesh that marked the perimeter of the scar there. She flinched, and he started to withdraw his hand. "Does it still hurt?"

"Just tickles."

"Ah." He rested his hand right above her knee.

"This is nice. Thanks for coming."

He spoke into her hair. "Thanks for having me."

"I didn't, actually.  To be more accurate, you ambushed me."

"You didn't have to let me in."

She yawned. "True. I should just give you a key."

His eyes popped open and he found himself staring at the top of her head. "What?"

"That way when you come down here you can just let yourself in, instead of standing outside my door like a panhandler."

Jack knew the offer was made lightly, that it was a practical thing to do given their situation. Still, the concept brought with it some weight, and gave new dimension to a relationship that had been over for months and was decidedly less than stable before that. "Are you sure you'd want to do that?"

"It's just a key; I'm not asking you to marry me," she laughed, but he detected a bit of nervousness.

"Okay."

Neither spoke for several minutes, and when she broke the silence her words were slurred from impending sleep. "Does that mean you'll be here more often?"

"Depends on work. You know how unpredictable it can be."

She didn't respond except to press more firmly into his side. Her breathing had slowed, and he wondered if maybe she had fallen asleep. He squeezed her upper arm lightly. "Sam?"

"You know, even if I had the option to go back, I don't know if I'd want to."

That was out of the blue. "You wouldn't?"

"Would this be possible if we were working together?"

Six months ago he would have said yes, if only because it had been possible before. They had started a sexual relationship despite the fact that he was her superior, despite his marriage, despite all the clichés already present between them that should have served as warning signs from the beginning.

Six months ago he hadn't recently tried to reconcile with his wife, they hadn't met Farrell or the Office of Professional Review, and Samantha hadn't seemed as vulnerable as she did on this couch, in this apartment, in this city. As hard as the separation had been, he wondered if it hadn't served as an impetus for a stronger connection between them. For the first time, he had begun to think of Samantha as completely separate from his other life. His marriage with Marie was as damaged as it had ever been, despite his honest attempt to repair it. He could go to work and not see the constant reminder of his mistake, but instead remember why he had made it in the first place. There was an adage that absence made the heart grow fonder, but he was beginning to wonder if maybe it just made it grow smarter.

So, instead he answered honestly.

"No."

"Does anyone know you're here?"

"Vivian."

"You told her?" Her voice might have registered surprise had she been more awake, but now it was almost incoherent.

"Do you ever have to tell her anything?"

"True. How does she feel about this?"

"I think she strongly disapproves."

Samantha sighed against his chest, but didn't respond.

Maybe it was the dim light, or that she wasn't fully awake, but Jack felt a sudden sense of urgency. "She also told me she wanted me to be happy."

Her body tensed slightly. "Are you?"

"I wasn't until recently. I think I was trying so hard not to have to make choices that I was satisfied with doing the right thing."

"And you've made a choice?"

"No." He had convinced himself he had; convinced himself that choosing was the only fair option for either woman.

Pulling away from him slightly, her eyes opened and met his for the first time since they had sat down. "Then how can you be happy?"

By reevaluating what the right thing is.

He drew her back to his side and planted a soft kiss in her hair before moving his legs up to join hers on the cushions. Turning their bodies so they faced each other, he slid his left leg under her right and tucked an arm around her waist.

As she fell asleep, he realized she was right. For her to return to New York would be for her to return to the lies, the instability, and the unfairness that had defined their relationship from the beginning. Somehow that same uncertainty had translated itself into something that she would trade her old life to keep.

Samantha had made her choice.

Marie, by asking him to leave, had made hers.

He hadn't made a choice because he didn't have to make one.

Reaching up for the blanket spread across the back of the couch, he pulled it over them. The other choices would come later.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks ever so much to M for the beta and all the encouragement. Without her enthusiasm, this story would still be sitting alone on my hard drive. Continued love to the rest of Maple Street. Best. Forum. Ever.

Continued from Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine:

The office hadn't changed much, with the exception that her old desk was no longer her desk, and the place she used to occupy at the table was now filled by someone else, a woman who now had the attention of the four other agents sitting nearby.

Holding back near the entrance, she caught Jack's gaze as he gave out the assignments, the group slowly collecting their reports. Trying to figure out how she had begun to feel like an outsider in the space of several weeks, she approached. "You better move a little faster. The missing person isn't going to find himself."

Danny was the first to react, and before she could give a greeting he wrapped her in a tight hug. "This is a surprise."

Taken aback by the reaction, she laughed. "I decided to come up for the weekend."

He pulled back. "It's great to see you."

Vivian and Martin followed, and both seemed legitimately pleased to see her. Martin gave her a short but awkward hug, and Samantha felt a bit of guilt for not keeping in touch with anyone but Jack since she had left. There had been a few calls to Danny, but that had been where the contact ended. It had just felt easier to break most of her ties. "I've missed you guys."

"We've missed you, too." Vivian tilted her head slightly. "Dressing down?"

Samantha looked down at her apparel-- jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, a purple visitors' badge completed the ensemble. "I just came in what I wore on the plane."

"I just don't think I've ever seen you in anything without heels."

She grinned. "And I don't think I've ever not seen the top of your head."

Vivian smiled and stood back as Jack approached with Melissa; Samantha made eye contact with him briefly before turning her attention to the brunette.

"Melissa Armstrong, this is Samantha Spade. She's with Development down at Headquarters now."

She nodded and gave Samantha a thin smile. "I've heard quite a bit about her."

 "It's nice to finally meet you." Samantha offered her a tentative hand and the other woman hesitated briefly, as if afraid of catching germs. She shook it loosely and Samantha slanted her eyes at Jack, who looked bemused.

"I'll be at my desk, Jack. I'm sure you two would like to catch up." 

Samantha stared at her back as she walked away, turning back to him when she was sure Melissa was out of earshot. "She's pleasant."

"I don't think she likes you," Jack countered, bluntly.

"She doesn't know me."

"Your reputation precedes you."

She snapped her head toward him. "What reputation?"

He looked innocent. "As a capable, intelligent agent with an impressive service record. She's probably afraid for her job." At her skeptical look, he continued. "How was your flight up?"

"Short. I got in a couple hours ago, so I've been walking around. It seems like I left years ago."

Nodding, he took a step closer to her than was professionally appropriate, but not so close that a bystander couldn't pass it off as accidental. "I don't know how late I'll be here tonight; I have a meeting with Van Doran over a court appearance."

"Is it a case I know?"

He shook his head. "Danny and Martin should be able to get out of here soon if you want to spend some time with them."

"I might for a little bit, if they don't have plans. I'm a little tired."

Jack slipped his hand into his pocket and removed his keys. Sliding a silver one off the ring, he deposited it into her palm. "Feel free to let yourself in if you get back before me."

Even though she had given him a key two weeks ago, coming from him the gesture seemed incredibly intimate. It was an openness that the plastic cards from hotels just didn't allow. 

They stared at each other before she spoke again. "I'll see you tonight then. I'll go find Danny and Martin." She paused. "I don't know where you live."

"Same building as before.  542."

"542. Got it."

"Maybe I should write it down."

She looked at him quizzically. "I think I can remember that."

Placing a hand between her shoulder blades, he directed her toward his office. Entering through the open door, Samantha felt, not saw him walk in behind her. The door closed, and she suddenly felt the wall behind her back as he leaned against her, his lips meeting hers as his hands traveled from her shoulders, down her sides, until they rested on her hips. His thumbs felt hot against her skin as they pressed between the waistline of her jeans and the hem of her sweatshirt. Responding to the contact, she wrapped her arms underneath his jacket and increased the intensity of the kiss until pulling away quickly several moments later.

Jack took a step back, confused. "What's wrong?"

"We're in your office."

"This office has seen worse." His tone was almost comically matter-of-fact.

"It just seems weird." It wasn't the most eloquent of responses, but he seemed to understand her reservations.

Smoothing down his jacket, he met her eyes. "What apartment do I live in again?"

Still slightly out of breath, she responded instantly. "542."

"You were right. I didn't need to write it down."

"I told you." She squeezed his hand.  "I'll see you later."

After a quick trip to Jack's to drop off her bag and to change into something more appropriate, Samantha sat inside a restaurant; a small but trendy place in the Village that she and Danny had gone to several times when she had lived nearby. The menu was small and eclectic, and the dining room lacked the crowds that most places had at this time of the day.

Danny and Martin arrived together and she waved to catch their attention. Watching as they navigated the maze of tables, she slid over to make room as Danny sat next to her, Martin taking the seat directly across. He was still in the clothes he was wearing at work, but had removed his jacket and tie. Danny had obviously found time to change. "Nice jacket."

He looked down at himself. "What's wrong with it? I thought you liked men in leather."

"It's green."

"Patina, actually."

Martin just shook his head. "I've never heard of patina."

"That's because it's not a shade of gray." Danny reached around Samantha for a menu. "Have you eaten at all today?"

"Two packs of pretzels on the plane; I'm starving."

"You want to split the calamari?" At Samantha's nod, he looked to Martin.

"I'll pass."

Danny turned his attention back to his menu, both eyebrows raised. "That's a first."

"I'll get my own appetizer; I'm just not a big fan of squid."

"It's fried. Put some marinara sauce on it and it tastes just like chicken."

"With little chewy tentacle rings. No thank you."

After placing their orders, Samantha leaned back into her chair. "Anything new going on with you guys?"

Martin shook his head. "Work's been about the same. Melissa and I just got back from a lead in California, so that got us out of the office for a few days."

"Is she nice to work with?"

"As long as work is where it ends."

His response intrigued her, but she refrained from asking him to elaborate. She didn't usually shy away from gossip, but she found herself wanting to know as little about her replacement as possible. "She seemed nice," she offered blandly.

Danny snorted. "That's diplomatic."

Nodding, she took another sweetener from the plastic bin. "I got the impression she didn't like me."

"Well, it's probably hard for her. She came in and took over your spot--it has to be a little awkward."

"That's what Jack said."

"He's right." He swallowed a gulp of iced tea. "Did you tell anyone you were coming?"

Her reflex was to lie, and she realized that even if she had a reason to, her response wasn't incriminating. "Jack."

"You've been in contact with him a lot?" 

"I'll bet."

 She turned toward Martin. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

Danny had been following the exchange with amusement. "No, man. They used to have something. Not anymore."

Snapping her head around, she stared at him. "Thanks for the discretion."

"Martin knows."

She ran a hand over her eyes and waited while the server brought their plates. "Did you tell him?"

Martin looked almost uncomfortable. "Jack let it slip during the Mashburn…incident. Van Doran asked him if he could keep his cool with you in there."

So Van Doran knew, too. Between the rest of the team, Jack's supervisor, OPR, and Jack's wife, Samantha suddenly wondered if there was ever anything to keep them from having sex on the briefing room table. "What did he say?"

"He said he could use it to his advantage."

Looking down at her drink, she smirked. "That sounds like him."

The food arrived and so did a welcome break from conversation. Taking a piece of calamari, she had barely finished chewing when Danny spoke around a mouthful of food.

"Which hotel are you staying at? Martin and I can come over later and raid the mini-bar."

Samantha hadn't made it through Quantico without being able to recognize a trap, and her response was immediate. "I don't have a mini-bar."

"That's too bad." He looked across the table. "Isn't that too bad, Martin?"

"A real shame."

"You wouldn't mind if we came over anyway, right? Take some time to catch up."

Whether it was the consistency of the food or the line of questioning, Samantha still swallowed hard. "We're catching up right now." She gestured to the neon string lights around the perimeter of the restaurant. "Much nicer here, too."

Smelling blood, Danny moved in for the kill. "I'm getting my apartment fumigated…"

"I'm staying at Jack's." She sounded only mildly irritated, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing her rattled. "Did you guys orchestrate this? Good cop, manipulative cop?"

"It works on suspects."

"Whatever is between me and Jack is between me and Jack. I don't want this getting out."

Martin stole a piece of fried zucchini off the edge of Danny's plate. "We're not telling anyone. It was just for our own edification."

"Besides, it's not like we couldn't put it together. You leave and Jack starts raking in the frequent flyer miles." Danny shook the end of his straw at her. "We're trained investigators."

"And I'm sure all your victims are reassured by the fact that you're putting that to use finding out dirt on your colleagues' relationship."

"I'm sure." He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was softer. " Has he been going down there since right after you left?"

"No. We had ended it quite awhile before I went down there."

"What brought it back on?"

It was a personal question, and one that she would usually hedge at. But somehow the distance from her old job had seemed to distance her from her old reservations as well. "We don't work together anymore, his marriage is over…it was a mutual decision."

"I'm glad." Martin spoke, and she had briefly forgotten he was there. His response surprised her, and he elaborated. "Things have been better around the office recently."

"I still don't think that has anything to do with me." She didn't. While the concept touched her, Jack simply wasn't the type to let one person dictate his happiness. He had come to decisions about the office, about his marriage, about her. He had come to a sense of peace himself; she was only a part of that. To take any more credit would be a burden she didn't want or need.

There was silence at the table for a few moments before Danny spoke again. "Are things serious?"

She laughed softly. "As serious as they can be when you're in a long distance relationship with your still-married ex-boss."

"But it's working out?"

"For now." The stomachache she had been suppressing for the better part of two days started to reemerge.

Martin smiled, and it seemed sincere. "I'm happy for you."

"Thank you."

Her cell rang, and she checked the LCD display. "It's work. Mind if I take this?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "You need to learn to turn that thing off."

She pressed the send button while he started to tell Martin about the last call she had gotten when they were out together. That faded to the background as she answered, a distant voice filling her in on information she had been waiting to receive for the last 48 hours. Barely cognizant of her own replies over the din of Danny and Martin's conversation, she heard Nieper end the call. She closed the phone and suddenly needed to be anywhere but there.

"That was work. I need to go take care of something." They looked confused, and she flashed them a smile. "I'm sorry."

Danny was staring at her now; he didn't buy it. At the moment, she didn't care. "I'll try to see you again before I leave Sunday. You know how it is."

Standing to let her out, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Is everything okay, Samantha?"

"Fine." She reached into her pocket and placed a couple of bills on the table. "This should cover the bill." Before they could protest, she added "I make the big bucks now. It's okay."

Giving a quick hug to both men, she headed out the door and onto the sidewalk, the noise and crowd that she had so missed suddenly feeling very confining. Walking the short distance to her car, she quickly stepped inside and laid her head back against her seat. She tried to control her breathing, taking long, deep breaths while focusing on the center of the steering wheel. She hadn't had a panic attack in years, even after her shooting and the recovery process.

Not even after her life had been uprooted, after she had been sent to Washington, sent away from her friends and the only real relationship she had known in New York. That had been different somehow. When she had left New York she had felt slightly out of control, but with that came a sense of freedom. For a brief time her friends and contacts had been expendable. Jack had been back with Marie, and while it hurt, she had also begun to relish the fresh start.

Now she was starting to reestablish a connection with her friends, and Jack was with her. No entanglements. He was with her and she was with him and for the first time it seemed like it was where they both wanted to be.

It was everything she had wanted, except for one thing:

She had just been offered another fresh start.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Much :wub: to M for being the Best. Beta. Ever. This story would not exist if not for you. Thanks to Mystery for the advice, and to Maple Street for being the best forum I've ever been a part of, WaT or otherwise. You all rock!

Continued from Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten:

Cool air hit her face as she pushed open the door to Jack's apartment, the temperature in sharp contrast to the humid weather outside. Dropping her keys on the credenza near the door, she flipped on the light.

No Jack.

He hadn't expected her this early, she reasoned. He wasn't one to spend a lot of time at home in any circumstance, and there had been no way to anticipate that she would have gotten that call and fled her dinner with Danny and Martin. On instinct, she had started to drive toward the office before turning around and heading back toward his apartment. Work had always been a haven for her, a place to escape outside problems--with her family, with the men in her life.

Now, the problem was with work, and she found herself desperate to find a safe place where previously there had only been conflict or a release. Her relationships.

Kicking off her shoes by the door, she made her way through his living room to the bedroom. The apartment was surprisingly well furnished for someone who spent so little time away from the office, and she wondered if maybe the furniture was rented. There was a large TV with a DVD player sitting adjacent to it, but she could see no sign of DVDs. A nice dining set was to her left, but judging from the tray on the coffee table she doubted it had been used frequently.

A bin of video games sat to the left of the entertainment center, and she wondered for the first time how often Jack got to see his girls. It was the one part of his life she felt she couldn't share. Any mention of them would bring a quick change of subject and an even more sudden change of mood. She rarely persisted. At first it had hurt; she had seen it as a way to keep their relationship on a separate plane from something that might be construed as more permanent. And maybe in some ways it was, but more likely it was a way of protecting both of his lives-- not letting his kids see him as the reason he no longer shared a roof with them, and not making her constantly aware of the destruction the affair had left in its wake.

For as much as their relationship had been built on all the traditional elements-- attraction, shared interests, even love, a court document and societal ethics had invalidated it to what some might generously call a fling. It was hard to tell a child that daddy had been seeing someone other than mommy, and that's why he only got to play with them on the weekends. Even harder to tell them that they don't understand, that daddy really loves this other woman and that's why every weekend he wasn't with them, he was hundreds of miles away with her. Children didn't understand moral equivalencies or that the marriage had ended emotionally months before she and Jack had gone to the first hotel.

There were pictures on his dresser, mainly of the girls. An old photograph of a man in uniform that was probably his father, likely making the woman at his side his mother. She realized with a start that she didn't even know if they were alive; he had never mentioned them in anything but a referential context. Only one picture included Marie; the whole family standing in front of a rock formation that could have been a mountain or could have been a cave. Kate was still a toddler and Jack stood with his arm around Marie; Samantha didn't need his profiling skills to tell that he was happy.

She was reaching for her bag when she saw the picture of her.

It wasn't one she recognized, and she could tell by her hair that it wasn't recent. She had stopped wearing her hair that long shortly after she had joined the bureau. She remembered telling Jack that it got in her way and she hated pulling it up whenever they were out in the field. 'So, cut it,' he had grumbled, distracted and irritated by the busy morning traffic. She was hardly sure he had heard her, and more than certain he couldn't care less.

The next day she came in, hair four inches shorter, and spent no short amount of time second-guessing her decision. She told herself it was irrational, that as a FBI agent she had more practical concerns than her hair, but as someone who had always used her looks as a weapon instead of the hindrance it normally could be in a male-dominated profession, she felt every bit of those missing inches.

Apparently no one else did. Both relieved that the change wasn't jarring, and disappointed that a unit of trained investigators couldn't notice a major change to their colleague's appearance, she went through the day as she normally did. Stopping by Jack's office to let him know she was leaving, she was on her way out the door when he called her back.

"Samantha?"

She turned back toward him.

"I'm glad you cut your hair. It suits you."

She had smiled her thanks and walked away, wondering why five minutes ago his opinion mattered and realizing, for some reason, that it was the only one that did.

It was that day that she wondered if she might be in love with Jack Malone. She didn't make the fortunate mistake of sleeping with him until two years later.

Turning the frame in her hand, and slid the photo out the back. No indication of where and why it was taken, but it was labeled and dated in his black scrawl. "Samantha, February 00."

She set it back down, knowing that it had never been displayed at his old house, but touched that he had apparently kept a photograph of his mistress for the better part of three years. The feeling in the pit of her stomach returned, and she reached for her bag at the foot of the bed. That was forgotten as she heard the front door open.

"You here?" she heard him call, and for some reason her feet didn't want to move.

"I'm in here."

He entered the bedroom and crossed the floor in several strides, his hands immediately going to her waist as he bent slightly for a soft kiss. He spoke into her mouth. "Hey."

"Hey."  She laced her fingers around his neck. "Did you have a good day at work?"

"It was okay." Bringing up a hand, he toyed with her necklace. "Did you find the place all right?"

"542."

"Good work." He planted a kiss on the side of her mouth, and headed for the bathroom, loosening his tie. "How was your dinner?"

She heard him turn the faucet on. "It was nice." 

It was nice until the call that had her suddenly wanting to go back to Washington on the first available flight.  Standing there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she suddenly felt manic. "We had an appetizer and some drinks. Martin didn't like the calamari, and we just talked about work, really." Leaving out the discussion of the relationship, she sat on the edge of the bed.

He returned to the room, this time shirtless. "I would have thought Martin was the calamari type."

"There's a type?"

He shrugged and nearly tripped as he walked to the dresser. "Is this your stuff?"

"Sorry, I didn't know where to put it." Reaching forward to move it aside, his hand caught her wrist. Keeping hold of her hand, he used his right to slide open a drawer.

Her eyes caught his. "Really?"

"I gave you a key to my apartment. I think this would actually be a step down on the intimacy scale, Sam." 

Whether it was the light tone of his voice or the gesture itself, Samantha felt some kind of emotional wall closing in. She felt the telltale pinpricks behind her eyes and her voice felt thick. "Thanks."

He looked concerned now. "What's wrong?"

"I have to talk to you about something. I meant to do it when I first got here this morning, but you were in a hurry and everyone was around; it just wasn't a good time." She was rambling and she tried harder to measure her words. "It's nothing serious, but it indirectly involves you."

Sitting on the bed, he sat as close as he could without touching her. She knew he was adept at reading her body language, and she could only imagine what it was saying right now. 

 "What is it?" His voice was guarded.

"I was offered another job today. A promotion."

"Already?"

"Apparently we've made a lot of progress where I am right now and they thought that it might be advantageous for the unit to spread out." Samantha mentally counted to three.

"To where?"

"New Orleans."

The room turned quiet, and he looked away. She watched his line of vision move from the wall, to the window, back to the wall. Anywhere but toward her. "I'd say that directly involves me."

She didn't offer a response.

"Are you going to take it?"

She tried for confidence that she didn't have. "Another pay grade, the opportunity for field work, an ASAC role. By most reports I'd be stupid not to take it."

"Then I wish you the best of luck." His tone was clipped, professional, and she winced as he stood and walked to the other end of the room, his back to her.

"I haven't taken it yet."

"Sounds like a good opportunity for you, Samantha. I think I'd advise it."

She pressed her palms into the mattress and tried to keep her voice even. "Thanks, boss."

"I'll be happy to fax down a recommendation."

"Dammit, Jack. I don't know if I'm going to even take the job. Will you please look at me?" she asked, exasperated.

He obeyed, but his face remained inscrutable. "Why haven't you made your decision?"

She didn't know if it was the confrontation, or the stress of the last three days, but she felt a tear emerge from her eye and make its way down her cheek. "I don't know."

He stared a moment before crossing the room to kneel in front of her. Placing his hands on her knees, he made eye contact. "I'm sorry. This just took me by surprise."

"I know."

Neither of them spoke for several moments, until Jack noticed rough material of her pantyhose under his fingers. "Why don't you change, and then we can discuss this."

She felt oddly detached from her surroundings as she stood and stripped down to her bra and underwear, dropping her dress into a small pile by her feet. Suddenly not wanting or caring to put her new drawer to use, she crawled onto the bed and slid under the covers. She felt the mattress sink as he joined her. One hand went to the back of her neck, the other to her left hip, and for the first time that night she didn't feel like running.

"Are you going to do it?" His voice was soft, and she could feel his breath on her eyelids.

"It depends."

"On?"

"Us." 

"We've discussed us." He almost sounded defensive, but his thumbs didn't stop the small circles they were making on her hip and collarbone.

"I just need to know what we're doing here. You're in New York. I'm in D.C. Even if I wasn't offered this job that's no way to build a relationship."

"Are you sure you want to uproot yourself again so soon anyway?"

Was he being evasive? "All things being equal, I think I'd prefer this new position over my current one, yes."

"You should do whatever makes you happiest."

"Don't put this all on me."

He sighed. "What do you want me to say, Sam?"

"I want you to be honest."

His hand moved from her hip to her ribcage, and she could feel him searching for a response. "I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to go." She said, simply, resting her hands between them.

"Good. Problem solved." Sliding his hand slightly forward, he stopped short of its destination. "It's not solved, is it?"

She laughed in spite of her mood. After the affair had just started, she would sit in a briefing and remember this Jack, the one who could let down his professional barriers and let her in. It was a side the rest of the team didn't get to see, and while some could argue that it might lessen her respect for him as a leader, she found it also gave her greater insight into his motivations and mood. She knew when to confront him, and when to back off. She could read him better than anyone on the team, and if that made her a liability, then she was willing to take the risk. "I just need to know where we're going with this."

And there, Samantha Spade, confirmed other woman with widely known issues with men, had just asked for a commitment. 

"I can't ask you to turn down a better job."

"We can't telecommute on a relationship anymore. New Orleans is a lot farther away than Washington, and to be honest I'm not sure I want to keep going like this."

"You're not happy in Washington."

"You're not going to leave New York." It was a statement, not a question. His job, his kids. It simply wasn't an option. 

"I can't."

She nodded, and drew her knees up so that they rested against his thighs. "God, Jack. I don't even think this matters."

"Why?"

"Because no matter what we do, or where we do it, there's no way it can work. I'm playing the career equivalent of musical chairs, and you're not even divorced. I have no connection to your life outside weekend trips that still raise eyebrows. I was standing here today when I realized I know nothing about you, about your family…"

He was no longer touching her. "What do you want to know? Ask me anything."

"That's not the point."

"What is your point?" He was losing patience with the conversation, and Samantha could only hope it would get them out of this mental rut.

"We're still having an affair. You aren't living with your wife, but you weren't last time either. You come down to visit, but you leave before I get up in order to catch the shuttle. At least when I was here I could see you every day."

There was silence, and several seconds passed before she felt his hand running through her hair, a rhythmic, soothing motion. She bit her lip to keep her tears at bay. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." His other hand caressed her back. "What are you saying?"

"I don't think we should do this anymore."

She didn't know if she expected a protest, or anger, but she did know she desperately wanted him to do anything but keep touching her, keep comforting her like she hadn't just been the one to end the relationship that five minutes ago she wanted more than anything to preserve. Finding her voice, she tried to ignore how unsteady it was. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I love you."

It was the first time he had said those words, and she wondered if it would be the last. In the dark, that night, they were both a strange kind of comfort.

Either way she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his for several seconds before pressing even more tightly against him. Listening to his heartbeat, she realized that she should have seen this coming. In all the movies, in all the books, the young, blonde, stereotypically pretty subordinate never wins.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

A/N-- Huge thanks to M for all her support and the amazing beta. You rock! :wub: as always to Maple Street, the most amazing forum out there. You're all wonderful.

Continued from Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven:

The first night she had slept with Jack, the only evidence of their night together the indentation in his pillow and a pair of his boxers tossed aside into a corner of the motel room bathroom.

Now, on what potentially could have been their last night together, he remained pressed against her, his right arm draped across her midsection and one of her legs trapped between his. Sliding her calf free, she realized he had stripped down to his boxers at one point during the night, and a t-shirt now replaced her bra. She wondered how tired she must have been for him to have managed that without waking her. Twisting to face him, she studied his face as he slept, wondering what kind of man would make the effort to make the woman who had just broken up with him comfortable.

One that loved her? He said he did. It wasn't something she had expected to hear from him at any point. Their relationship had always been safe in that respect. An easy, comfortable rapport at work that translated into the bedroom. There had never been a lot of pretense to their encounters. What had started as a release from the worst of their cases started to happen more frequently. Bad cases, good cases…soon the excuses didn't exist at all. They'd gather their belongings and leave together, the destination sometimes in question, but never the outcome. 

Extricating herself from his grasp gently, she climbed out of the bed and made her way to the bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she turned on the water and was content to let the steam alleviate the headache that had manifested itself as soon as she remembered the events of the night before. Tossing his shirt onto the counter, she stepped under the hot spray and reached for the soap. Bar soap.

One night, long before they had slept together, he had stopped by her apartment to go over a case. It had almost seemed a little contrived at the time--she lived fairly close to work. Whether it was out of convenience or just a lack of desire to go back to the office, he had suggested they grab takeout and work at her place.

She had been sitting at her kitchen table the next morning when he had walked in, wearing nothing but a towel and holding a bottle of her raspberry herbal body wash. Not sure which sight was more improbable, she stared until he spoke.

"Do you have any real soap?"

"That's real soap."

"Soap that doesn't smell like fruit. Bar soap." He had practically growled the last part, as if to express his testosterone-driven need for soap in any other color but pink.

She hadn't been able to suppress her smile. "I'm sorry. Besides, bar soap dries out your skin."

"My skin thanks you for your concern."

"It's just one shower, Jack." This conversation was surreal.

"Won't people get suspicious when I go to work smelling like you?"

"I'd be more concerned if Vivian or Danny were getting close enough to care," she paused. "Besides, they can't be suspicious of something that didn't happen."

He had grunted and returned back to her bathroom, leaving her to wonder how close he had gotten to notice how she smelled in the first place, and thinking about how, in the space of three minutes, her relationship with Jack had changed in some tiny, yet inexplicably huge way.

Standing in his shower now, using his soap, she thought of more turning points. The first day she walked into his office. Their first kiss. The first case she worked where the victim didn't make it back alive. The time she had left to go home, and he didn't leave in the opposite direction.

She was at another turning point.

Stay in Washington, at a job where she was unhappy, but be able to keep some contact with the man who had somehow become her lifeline since she had left New York. And, in some ways, before she had even left. She'd have a job, and Jack, but both would suffer at the expense of the other.

Go to New Orleans and take a job that would allow her to do what she joined the Bureau to do. Helping others, carrying a gun, all the elements that every wide-eyed new agent came in for. Unlike a lot of the others, however, she had kept the drive. In many ways it would provide more opportunity than even her position in New York, but it also meant saying goodbye to the relationship that had set this all in motion in the first place. She thought she had made her decision the night before.

Then he told her he loved her.

She wished she could believe it.

She wished she could believe it, because despite the emotional distance she had tried to keep, she sometimes found herself wondering if he did. If maybe there was a chance that this was more than an affair, that eventually he wouldn't go home to his wife and his kids and leave her with a goodbye tempered by 'You knew there couldn't be more than this.' Thinking back, she thought that one of the problems might be that despite the nature of their relationship, no actual parameters had been set.

He'd never taken her to dinner on her birthday, but there would be flowers with an unsigned card left on her desk. Christmas was spent alone, but she could expect a call wrapped in context of a case. He had risked everything to trade himself for her in a hostage situation, but there were no visits at the hospital.

For every action there could be an equal and opposite reaction, and it had left both of them treading water.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped herself in a towel she found hanging from the shower rod. Realizing she had forgotten a change of clothes, she opened the door softly to find Jack sitting at the foot of the bed.

"Hey."

"Hey."

He nodded in the direction of her bag. "Did you forget something?"

"Yeah." Instead of walking toward it, however, she took a seat on the bed next to him. She kept her eyes on the floor, not aware he wasn't looking at her, either. "Jack…"

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I'm sorry about last night. It shouldn't have come out that way. I didn't come up here with that in mind…"

"Do you think it would have been better over the phone?"

He had a point. "I just don't see another option."

"It's your decision. I've told you how I feel."

Closing her eyes, she tried to keep down a sudden surge of anger. "That wasn't fair."

"As unfair as planning to walk out of here despite knowing that?"

"No offense, but whether I stay or go you still have your job, your children…it's not exactly like we're sharing an equal load here."

"I can't leave those things."

"And I respect that, but you can't ask me to give up everything to have half a career." She looked at him. "Half a relationship."

Nothing was said for several moments, and Samantha watched as water dripped down her arm and onto the bedspread. She found herself counting the drops as the seconds passed, and she had gotten to 30 when Jack finally spoke. "Did you believe me?"

"That you love me?"

He nodded.

"No."

There were no protests or reaffirmations. He just stared at the wall. "Why?"

"I think you told me what you think I needed to hear."

He didn't respond, and it might as well have been a physical blow. Not having a response, she settled for a short nod as she rose from the bed. Grabbing her bag, she reached in for a pair of jeans. She could take the 11am flight back to DC, leave Jack and this city behind, and start packing for the new life she didn't want.

"What if I asked you to stay?"

Shaking her head, she dropped her clothes back onto the dresser. "Are you serious?" At his unchanging expression, she answered. "There isn't a job for me here."

"Not now, but maybe there would be. You could just take some time off."

"I don't think I could take that chance."

Standing now, he moved closer and she was aware of how close he was. Meeting his eyes, she was surprised to see a kind of resolve there. "So this is it?"

His hands were on her bare shoulders now, and she thought of all the reasons this should be it. She was moving even farther away from a job that was no longer hers and a relationship that she could never truly be a part of. As much as the prospect of staying in New York appealed to her, it was idealistic at best. She hadn't gone through Quantico to play housewife to a man who was still married to someone else. She shared his bed, but she could never truly share his life.

Yet he had just asked her to stay.

He had asked her to stay knowing how much her career meant to her, knowing more than anyone how much she had become invested in her work. Knowing more than anyone how important it had to be in order for her to walk out of his life. It was undeniably selfish, and in no small way she resented it.

She reached up and met his lips as he turned. She felt the edge of the bed at the back of her thighs as he pulled the towel away and pushed her slowly backward.

He had asked her to stay knowing that this might never happen again, and it was then that Samantha realized that maybe, last night, he had told the truth.

Six hours later, an emergency page found them in the office.

They had dressed quickly and silently, and that same silence had translated into the car ride over. Typically their drives to work had always included Jack venting at the dense morning traffic or Samantha scrolling through the radio stations in an attempt to drown out the noise.

This morning, there had been none of that.

Nothing was said when she had crawled out of bed to retrieve the clothes she had removed from her bag in her first attempt to leave, or when she had gone into the bathroom and taken her toothbrush from where it had rested next to Jack's. 

Nothing was said as she had zipped up her bag and walked to the living room to wait while Jack took his shower, nor was anything said when he came out, dressed and ready for work, and walked out the door.

He had said he loved her and she now believed him. He had asked her to stay and she believed that was what he truly wanted.

She was leaving despite those things, and in many ways, because of them.

Now she sat perched on the corner of Vivian's desk, observing the others at the table where she no longer felt welcome. She wasn't a member of the team anymore, and she had only come with Jack in order to say goodbye. She had done this before, but this time it held a sense of finality that hadn't existed the first time.

New Orleans was only another 600 miles from Washington, but it was far enough. The physical distance could be measured in miles, but the emotional distance couldn't. Friendships would be nearly impossible to maintain and a relationship would be even more difficult.

The case that had brought she and Jack out of bed was the probable abduction of Tommy Roberts, a six -year old boy from Brooklyn who had been with his mother at a department store when he was snatched by an unidentified man. No one had been able to get a good description, and since the boy was living in a single-parent home, they immediately looked to the father. 

"I don't know. The dad lives in California, and New York is pretty far away to be conducting a kidnapping given he was placed in L.A. just yesterday." Danny responded to one of Martin's theories.

"He could have hired someone," Melissa interjected.

"And got him back how, a plane? Wouldn't that have raised some eyebrows?"

"We have conflicting eyewitness reports and a fuzzy surveillance tape. No one saw the boy or his mother enter or leave the store. I'd say this is our only lead."

Jack rubbed his eyes. "We do have a ransom note."

"And a father living in his van on the other coast."

"And you're suggesting we look there first?" Martin asked, already up at the map.

"I think we should pick up the father. Contact the Los Angeles office and have him picked up for questioning and center the investigation out there. Everything here has been a dead end." Melissa looked to Jack.

"I think that would be a mistake." Samantha spoke for the first time. "The ransom amount, the phraseology…Parents who abduct their children rarely refer to them in such impersonal terms, like 'the child.' or 'the collateral.' You can have 20 pieces of evidence pointing on one direction, but it only takes one to invalidate a profile." Samantha made eye contact with him. "You taught me that."

He nodded, and she saw her opening.

"At the very least we're talking two suspects, and if the child hasn't been delivered to the father…they've had more than enough time to put him on the plane."

Jack looked from Samantha to Melissa, then back to his file. "Fine. Melissa, go ahead and check out the father, but we're going to keep our focus here. Keep going through the surveillance cameras, re-interview witnesses. Someone had to see that little boy in a crowed store on a Saturday afternoon."

Danny headed to his desk, followed closely by Martin. Melissa was on her way out the door when Samantha stepped into her path. "I'm sorry about that. I just saw a pattern…"

"It's fine. You made some good points."

Samantha flashed her a relieved smile. "I'm glad you understand."

"Still, it must be nice to have such an impact on an office you don't work in."

"Excuse me?"

"How many victims do you think you've lost over the years because he can't say no?"

Her denial was immediate, and more out of habit than a legitimate need to defend herself. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sleeping with the boss might not be the brightest career move, but it's your careers. When it starts to enter the cases…"

Samantha quickly forgot about pretenses. "So you thought that back there was about Jack playing favorites and not just because you were wrong?"

"I've just seen enough around here to know this isn't a new occurrence."

"What? Listening to theories and going with the one that best fits a behavioral model? No, that's not."

"I just know what I see."

"You saw him agree with an observation I made. You haven't seen one of the 100 times he's questioned my judgment, and I doubt you've seen him actually take me off cases because he didn't think I was an asset to the investigation. He agreed with Danny earlier, and I'm fairly sure they're not having sex." Brushing past her to return to the table, she spoke to the older woman's back. "And this isn't helping to find Tommy Roberts."

She found Jack staring at a file several feet from where she had been sitting before, and she wondered if he had overhead the conversation. If he had, his face didn't give anything away. "I better head out. Let you guys get to work."

"So you won't be there when I get back tonight?"

"No." Not tonight and most likely not ever. It had begun to sink in shortly after they had arrived, and now it just left her feeling vaguely numb.

"I guess this is it, then."

He wrapped her in a brief hug and she felt his lips against her cheek. A friendly send-off that could still be perceived as a professional gesture of goodwill. There would be no long good-byes at the airport. Nothing that would indicate that just two hours ago they were sharing a bed after an encounter which now seemed like a way to recapture something that hadn't yet lost.

Now they were on the brink of losing it, and both old and new boundaries were falling into place. Work. His marriage was essentially over, but she wondered if it hadn't been easier to evade his wife and superiors than to have this new freedom and no way to exercise it.

She felt him put something in the pocket of her jacket, but she didn't look down. There would be plenty of time for that later. "I'm sorry."

He met her eyes. "I understand."

She wasn't sure that he did. Even more certain that she didn't. Denying everything she wanted in order to keep Jack from everything he shouldn't have. 

Taking a step away, he spoke again. "Have a safe trip… home."

"Will you call me?" As much as she felt she needed to break all ties, now that the moment had arrived, she found herself desperate for a lifeline.

"I don't know."

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Samantha nodded, the sick feeling in her stomach only increasing.

"Bye, Sam."

He had gone and she had said her good-byes to Danny and Martin, the mood dark and Danny doing his best to lighten it. This time they didn't exchange phone numbers because she had no idea where she'd be in a week. No one needed to know she probably wouldn't have answered the phone anyway.

It wasn't until she was on the plane that she remembered.

Lifting her tray table, she dug into her pocket and retrieved an envelope folded neatly into thirds, her name printed on the front. Sliding a nail underneath the edge, she slid a thin piece of cardboard-- a post-it stuck to the top-- from the pouch.

I can't make the decision for you, but I'll be here if you need me."

- J

She peeled off the note to reveal an airline ticket voucher, open-ended as to both the date and the destination. This had been why he had said he didn't know if he would call her. If she had served the ball into his court when she had left for Washington, he had just hit it back twice as hard.

She wouldn't go back. Couldn't go back. To keep contact with him would be unfair to both of them.

The flight attendant came by with a trash receptacle and as she threw her plastic cup away, she contemplated throwing the ticket in along with it. Instead she reached under the seat in front of her and placed it in her carry-on.

Because as much as she wouldn't go back, she couldn't seem to move forward.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: So, it's come to a close. Where do I begin? There are so many people who have been way too kind to me and this story, and if I listed them all, this would be longer than the chapter. You know who you are. I have to thank the most amazing beta ever to grace the planet. M, you've been a wonderful supporter and friend, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. A, thanks again for the title, the art, and for being the best friend I've ever had. S, B, J, K, M2…you guys have all helped in so many ways. Writing this story helped get me through a really dark period in my life, and by supporting it you've really supported me. Thank you.

Continued from Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve:

Marie filed for a divorce the same day as Melissa filed for a transfer.

Jack couldn't decide if it was fate or coincidence that had him staring at both documents two weeks after Samantha had walked out of his office forever, but either way it was ironic. He now had two voids in his life that could only be filled by the same person who created them.

Irreconcilable differences was the reason listed on the divorce papers; a simple, pat explanation for a separation caused not by infidelity or its ramifications, but because neither side cared enough to overcome them. He wasn't surprised she wasn't seeking anything more than the apartment they had shared; she had always made more money than he did. Custody of Hanna and Kate wasn't an issue, as the current arrangement was acceptable to both parties.

He wondered what was custom in situations like this, if he should take an early day or head to the nearest bar. Shaking his head, he pushed the papers aside. He hadn't even done that after Samantha had left.

Melissa's transfer request hadn't taken him by surprise, but the reason had. No accusations of misconduct or supervisial impropriety. Just a simple "personal reasons" with a request to be placed in a division more appropriate to her background. It would probably be arrogant to think she was protecting him or the office by hedging the real reason; the Bureau didn't like snitches even more than they didn't like supervisors sleeping with their subordinates. It tended to create an atmosphere of distrust and disrupted unity within the team. Something his affair with Samantha never did.

If anything, the opposite had happened.

He hadn't heard from her since she left that day. No calls, no emails, nothing to indicate where she was or what she was doing. Two days earlier he had brought up her profile in the database. The new promotion had not brought a new picture with it. It was the same photo that he had been sent with her new hire paperwork before she had joined his team. Despite all the mandated seminars on diversity in the workplace, he remembered looking at her image with a certain amount of skepticism. A green agent fresh out of Quantico with almost no field experience wasn't his first choice to join what was considered an elite unit. Add to that her almost preternatural good looks and he had almost sent her folder back to personnel.  Still, the notes from the recruiter had described her as driven, highly intelligent, and intuitive: all assets in their work.

Any doubts he had about her physical capability for the job was cast aside three weeks later when she was confronted with her first armed suspect. Trapped between a wall and a dumpster, she tackled the man when any other agent would have gone for their weapon. After she had the suspect handcuffed and placed in the back of a police car, he had told her that what she had done was incredibly stupid, and if she tried anything like it again she'd find herself off his team.

Samantha had apologized as she removed her jacket, revealing a darkening bruise there. It had to be painful, but she said nothing as they had driven back to the office, her mind already on their next lead. Her actions might have been misguided, but his skepticism had been erased. Whenever he needed an agent in a volatile situation, his instinct was to send Samantha; she was quick, intelligent, athletic, and underestimated by almost any perpetrator she was likely to come across. It was why she was in the bookstore that day, and ultimately, why she was shot. It was likely instinct that caused her to run at Mashburn, an impetuous decision that almost cost her life.

Jack didn't regret his decision, however. He had no doubt that if someone like Danny had been the one to oversee the drop, people would have died. He was simply too volatile for the situation.

That was why he had always shrugged off the suggestion that he would show favoritism to Samantha because of their relationship. Several times he had to send her into situations where she might not return, and every time he had done it not as an employer, but as the person who would probably be most affected by her death. If Samantha was the best fit for an operation he would send her and try to keep his stomach out of his throat until she came back unharmed.

It was when she didn't that things got complicated, and that was one of the reasons they were in this situation now.

He heard three knocks and the door open. No need to look up. "Come in, Danny."

"Hey boss. HR sent these up for you. I think they're personnel files."

"Thanks. You can leave them on my desk."

Danny crossed the room and placed the files on the corner; when he lingered, Jack looked up. "Can I help you?"

"It just doesn't make sense to me that we have to hire and train another agent for this unit when someone with experience is out there."

"Great, send them in."

"Jack…"

"Samantha is gone. It'd be best for all of us to just move on."

Danny waited a moment before trying again. "Is there anything stopping you from appealing?"

"Appealing what? Samantha's decision to leave?"

"She left before she knew Melissa was going to quit."

"Yes, and the job still isn't open to her." He put down his pen. "Besides, she's had a promotion and currently makes about $15,000 a year more than you do. She probably wouldn't want to come back even if she could."

"You could try."

Jack removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "You don't know the facts."

"I think I do."

The two men looked at each other before Jack motioned at the door. "I have work to do."

Danny turned and walked out, and Jack stared at the stack of files before returning his attention to the transfer request. The rational side of him knew that there was an agent in those files capable of filling the spot that Melissa had just vacated. An agent with more experience than Samantha had when he had brought her onto his team.

That same rational side also knew that going to Van Doran would be pointless. A decision had been made, and control of the situation had left his hands even before the first meeting where Samantha had been sent to Washington.  Probably before phone calls and access codes had started raising the eyebrows of people who seemingly already knew where to look.

There was nothing to say she'd come back even if the job was offered to her. She had left and hadn't looked back. He had made his overture with the plane ticket, and the most practical thing for him to do would be to let her go.

The screensaver on his monitor kicked in and he realized he had forgotten what he was working on.

He had made his overture and she hadn't called, hadn't written. Nothing to indicate he was even in her thoughts.

Pushing back his chair, he grabbed the transfer request and slid the file of the one person most qualified for the position from the drawer to his right.

She hadn't called, hadn't written, so why was he about to make one final overture?

"No."

"Come on, Paula."

Van Doran stood from her chair and walked around the front of her desk to face Jack. "Armstrong's transfer request took us all by surprise, but trust me when I say she is replaceable. There's no reason to rebuild old bridges."

"Even when doing so might be the most beneficial thing for the unit?"

"There's absolutely nothing to indicate that's the case here, Jack."

"Look at this objectively. There's an agent with four years experience in missing persons work. One that has worked with this specific unit and has a high proficiency rating. An agent who works well with this team…"

"A little too well. That's my concern."

"I'll make sure to tell the victims that we would have found them sooner, but we have a strict policy against hiring agents that might be the best fit for the task force," Jack responded, not breaking eye contact.

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

"300 new agents graduate every year at Quantico. I just think it might be a more prudent decision to find one that you haven't had a sexual relationship with."

"And you're basing this entire process on that?"

Van Doran shook her head. "I know this tends to get forgotten on your team, but the Bureau does have regulations. Procedures to follow. What's next? Firing a weapon at an unarmed suspect? I don't care if IA catches Fitzgerald stealing number two pencils from the supply cabinet. You break the rules, you're going to pay the consequences."

Jack looked down to where his hands rested in his lap. Keeping his voice level, he tried to play the numbers. "I realize Agent Armstrong was only with us a short time, but our solve rate compared to a year ago is down."

"That's completely subjective."

"And Melissa's performance evaluation for the quarter didn't come close to Samantha's."

"The performance evaluation that you administered? I somehow doubt Human Resources** will be swayed by that."**

Jack couldn't help but smirk. "They should. I actually scored Samantha low in a few categories in order to avoid suspicion."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Okay."

"I like Spade, and I won't deny she seemed to be an asset to this job. What you can't deny is that you can't maintain objectivity in a situation where she is involved." Her voice was lower now.

"The Mashburn situation again? You must not have read the press release. All the hostages lived, we recovered the missing woman, and brought an armed kidnapper to justice. Maybe if I hadn't slept with Agent Spade we could have held the arraignment right there in the bookstore and made more efficient use of the FBI's time."

She didn't say anything for a long moment. "If I go to bat for you on this, there are a couple things of which I have to be certain."

For the first time since he had been in this office 12 weeks ago, he saw daylight. "Such as?"

"That Spade is agreeable to returning to her old position. She's been remediated to a new assignment, one on a higher pay grade. I don't want to stick my neck out on this only to have her decide she doesn't want to take a demotion and pay cut."

When she put it that way, it sounded incredibly selfish. Samantha was on the fast track and he was about to derail what could be a meteoric rise up a ladder that most young female agents could never get near. Perhaps it was selfish, but his guilt was tempered by the knowledge that she would jump at the opportunity to return. There was no doubt in his mind, and he spoke with confidence. "She'll come back."

Van Doran raised a finger in the air as she looked at a file that likely had nothing to do with their current conversation. "And second…"

"Yes?"

"I want your word that whatever the two of you had before is in the past."

If anything good had come out of the last few months, it had been the freedom that he and Samantha had been allowed. Free from work and his marriage, for the first time the clandestine nature of their relationship had transformed into one with a certain amount of validity. It had been freeing to be able to touch her in public and not have to worry about the potential effects on his career and hers, not have to worry about waking up to find her gone, her exit necessitated in order for her make it across the city and into work without raising suspicion. It was tiring, unable to commit to a relationship because to do so would be like committing a crime.

To deny his feelings now would be to give up the possibility of a real relationship with Samantha. It would put them back right at the beginning.

He wondered if somehow that wasn't worse than where they were right now-- the end.

"It's over." 

Van Doran didn't blink. "I want your word, Jack."

"And you have it. "

She looked back down at the file before addressing him again. "I'm serious. If she's allowed to return to this office I don't want to see you so much as open a door for her, do you understand? She won't get a second chance and I'll have you making copies down in Finance."

"Fine."

"I'll do my best."

"Thank you." Jack stood quickly, as if she might change her mind in the 10 feet between his chair and the exit.

"Off the record?"

"I wasn't aware we were on the record."

"Off the record, I don't want to see you screw this up. I don't care what you do with Spade in the off-hours; if it enters this office I will go straight to Cameron."

He nodded, feeling like he had both lost and found his soul in one brief meeting.

For the second time that day a transfer request rested on his desk, Samantha's name typed neatly across the front and Paula Van Doran's signature scrawled neatly at the bottom. There was another signature there, one he didn't recognize, and he wondered how many strings Paula had to pull in order to find someone high enough in the hierarchy to authorize the transfer, but out of the loop enough not to have heard the rumors about Jack Malone and his inability to keep his personal life personal.

Reaching for his pen, he signed on one of the two remaining lines. The third signature of four required to restore the team, the office, and his life back to the way it was before she had left for Washington.

Picking up the phone, he dialed her office number in D.C. It rang several times and he was about to hang up when she answered. "Spade."

"Hey, it's me."

There was a pause on the line and he wondered for a moment if the connection had been lost. "Samantha?"

"Sorry, I'm here."

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm just busy. What's up?" Her voice was distant, distracted.

"I wasn't sure you'd still be at this number."

"I don't leave for New Orleans until next week. Still some loose ends to tie up here."

"Oh."

Papers rustled in the background. "I don't mean to be rude, but I have a lot going on today. Can I call you back in a bit?"

Her tone was brusque, almost cold, and Jack suddenly found himself wishing he wasn't working on a deadline. "Actually, I have to talk to you about something. It's fairly important."

The background noise stopped. "Okay."

"I talked to Van Doran this morning and they're prepared to offer you your job back." The words left his mouth quickly, which made the resulting silence all the more interminable. "Sam?"

"I heard you."

"Well?"

"What about Melissa?"

"She's leaving."

"This is pretty sudden."

"I know, but you wouldn't have to report here for close to a week, which should leave you plenty of time to get things in order. I could…"

"I can't."

Of all the responses he had envisioned, none of them had ended like this. "What?"

"I can't go back. I'm finally moving on, Jack, and I think you should, too." Her brusque tone had softened, but hadn't lost its firm edge. "I hate to do this to you, but I really need to get to this meeting."

"We need to talk about this. I'll call you back tonight."

More silence. "Can we do it tomorrow? I have plans tonight."

"With who?"

"You wouldn't know him."

Him.  Jack suddenly felt sick. "I guess some of us have moved on faster than others."

"It's not like that." She sighed. "I need to go. I'll try to call you tomorrow."

There was a click on the line, and he decided then that he wouldn't be calling.

She wasn't coming back.

The next 48 hours passed as if he was in a daze; there wasn't any anger this time, just a pervasive emptiness that left him numb and going through the motions at work. If the others noticed, they didn't say anything. He caught Danny staring more than once, and Jack wondered if Samantha had been in contact with him at all.

Tempted to make the trip himself, he had sent Vivian and Martin to Connecticut on a series of leads on their latest case. His bag had been packed that morning when he decided that trying to run from himself wasn't going to help. If he was going to move on, it was going to start with his daily routine.

That same routine had him turning his key in the lock of his apartment more out of habit than necessity, but for the first time he found himself not seeking refuge in his work. He started to wonder if he was depressed before realizing he could think of only a handful of occasions in the last year where he hadn't been.

Pushing the door open, he was hanging his keys next to the door when he saw her.

She was lying on his couch, knees bent, eyes closed, her hair down and obscuring part of her face. It appeared she had come directly from work, her black jacket and skirt in sharp contrast to the beige cushions. The sight was unexpected, and for an irrational moment he contemplated walking right back out the door. Standing in place for several seconds, he slowly crossed the floor and stood at the end of the couch before reaching down and shaking her ankle lightly. When her leg retracted at the contact, but she didn't open her eyes, he tried again. "Sam?"

She looked disoriented for a moment, and he waited while she focused on him. "Oh, hey."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, skipping the pleasantries.

"You gave me a key, remember?"

"And what, you decided to fly up here and take a nap?"

"Sorry about that. I didn't sleep too well last night."

"Why are you here, Samantha?" Surprise was turning to irritation now.

"I wanted to talk to you."

Jack took a seat across from her, but didn't meet her eyes.

"I almost didn't come," she started slowly. "I wasn't going to call, and everything was packed. I had signed the lease for the new apartment; all I had left to do was fax it."

"What changed your mind?"

"I was going through my carry-on and found the ticket you had given me. I had forgotten about it, actually; almost threw it away on the plane ride home."

He nodded. "Why didn't you?"

"I don't know."

"Why are you here now?"

"Because I almost threw it away."

Squinting at her, he shifted onto the couch. "You're not making sense."

"I realized I was leaving not because I wanted to go, but because you wanted me to stay."

It was starting to fall into place. "And that frightened you."

"In a way. I've always set the boundaries for my relationships in the past." She paused, as if wondering how much to say. "In high school, I had a boyfriend. He was the first guy I really dated, the first guy I slept with. I didn't love him, but he helped me fit in. He was star of the football team, president of the ROTC. It was a small town, and he was on his way out. I saw him as a means of escape, really."

Jack didn't say anything, wanting her to continue. She did.

"Well, in our senior year he was offered a full scholarship to the University of Nebraska. His parents wanted him to join the military like his father. He felt trapped, so I brought up another option."

"You married him."

"I got away from my parents, he got his scholarship, and we were divorced by finals."

"Why is it you've never told me this before?"

She smirked. "It's not exactly a story I'm proud of."

"So what does this have to do with us?"

Looking up, she stared at him. "I was going to stay with you here…"

"…until I asked you."

"I didn't want to stay and then six months or a year from now have you second-guessing this. Wondering if you gave up one life for another where you're equally unhappy. At least if I made the decision, you could resent me, but I could take the blame. I wasn't going to be responsible for ruining your career, too."

"Did you ever stop to think that the opposite might be true? That you might be taking the choice out of my hands? You have no right to decide what's right for me."

"I do when it involves me."

"You don't want this?"

"That's why I'm here."

"What changed your mind?"

"I guess I figured the more distance I put between us, the easier it would be to let go, you know? I had resigned myself to a new life, and somehow I convinced myself it was what I really wanted." She looked at him. "I had gotten pretty far. Then you called. After I hung up the phone, I realized it wasn't far enough."

Jack couldn't look at her now, knowing that her answer would change everything before he even asked the question. "So you're accepting the job offer?"

"I'm accepting your offer."

His eyes met hers, and he suddenly found it hard to breathe.  "Are you sure?"

"If you're sure. This will put us right back where we were. I mean, I can take the job, but there's nothing to say we can even spend time with each other outside the office. Are you willing to live with that?"

"I think I'm willing to take the risk. Besides, I think Van Doran gave us her veiled blessing."

"Veiled by what?"

"Threat of immediate termination."

Samantha smirked. "You have the most to lose."

His job, the stability of his life in New York. Pending divorce or no, he had responsibilities that went deeper than her career.

"Yes, I do." Covering her hand with his, he leaned back into the cushion. He had the most to lose, but he wasn't about to lose it again. 

"We could set some ground rules."

"No."

She looked up from where their hands now rested on her thigh. "Jack…"

"Ground rules? Fine. It stays out of work."

The job had always been detrimental to his relationships. With his wife. With his children. With friends and the contacts he had made through the years.  There was no shortage of irony in that his relationship with Samantha had probably been the healthiest he had been able to maintain. Shared midnight takeout over case files had developed into an improbable friendship. Anything physical had been an extension of that, and Jack saw no reason why the opposite couldn't be true. Full circle.

"That's it?"

"I don't want this to be defined by our jobs."

"So where does that leave us?"

"Wherever you want it to."

"My old apartment is gone. I'll have to find somewhere else to live."

"You could stay here."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure that won't clue anyone in at work."

"Just until you find something else." At her skeptical look, he continued. "It's the most practical thing to do."

"As long as it's practical." 

Her smile was genuine, and Jack wondered how just an hour ago he had resolved himself to a life without her. He moved his other arm from the back of the couch to trail his fingers along the nape of her neck. "So who was the guy?"

"Who?" A look of confusion crossed her features.

"On the phone. You said you had plans."

She cut him a sideways glance. "My hairdresser."

"You could have cleared that up."

"I didn't really see the point."

Pulling her head down to his shoulder, he pressed a kiss into her hair. "I missed you."

"Me too."

They remained like that for several minutes before Jack looked at his watch. "I didn't realize how late it was. It's my night with the girls."

"I should go anyway. I have a lot of loose ends to tie up."

He grabbed her wrist as she reached for her shoes. "I'm just going to pick them up and take them to get dinner and ice cream. I'd like you to come."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."  

Her eyes were wide and Jack had to suppress a grin. "If you're going to be part of my life, that means being a part of the girls' lives as well."

"Won't Marie have issues with that?"

"She'll have to get used to it. She filed for a divorce three days ago."

She turned toward him quickly. "You didn't tell me that."

"To be fair, you really didn't give me the chance."

"So that's it? It's over?"

He stood and reached his hand out to her, pulling her to her feet. "It's over."

Her expression of disbelief was replaced by something more inscrutable as she searched his face for any sign that after years of being defined by their relationship, that they hadn't just overcome that last, and largest, obstacle.  Her hands went around his waist and she met his lips in a short kiss before relaxing into his embrace. 

Stepping away, he headed for the door. "I'll be back soon."

"Okay, I'll just unpack a few things."

"Bye."

She gave him a bright smile. "Bye."

Almost through the door, he almost missed her next words. "I love you."

"Me too." His response was immediate; he hadn't fully registered what she had said.

It was the first time she had said the words, and in this apartment, this night, he had reason to believe they wouldn't be the last.

Now, coming back to New York, she was returning to a relationship with her supervisor, but for the first time the future seemed somewhat clear.

Twelve hours ago, Samantha had been preparing for yet another new life 1200 miles away.

Twelve weeks ago, she had been forced to say goodbye to her life for the very reasons she was standing here now.

"…and where was he? Getting a latte."

"You're making that up." Samantha rolled her eyes as she walked back to her desk.

"I'm not!" Danny turned to Martin, who was standing at the end of the table. "Am I?"

"He wouldn't lie." Martin said, deadpan.

"Now I know you're making it up."

Vivian approached. "He just doesn't want to give you the impression that the exciting cases left when you did."

"He's doing a great job."

"Okay, people." Jack walked through the office and took his normal spot at the head of the briefing table. "19 year old female disappeared from her NYU dorm room. She was last seen yesterday morning, and her parents haven't heard from her in 48 hours. That gives us a window about 24-36 hours to work with."

"Any friends or roommates?" Vivian asked.

"None that can shed any light on the situation. I'd like you to go to the college and see what you can dig up."

"Okay."

"Samantha, Martin…check out the parents. See if they can give you any history that might put some pieces together." Handing her the file, his fingers brushed against hers. It might have been intentional; he wasn't sure himself.

She smiled.

Nothing--and everything--had changed.

FIN.


End file.
